


Relativity

by WalkerLister



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Chameleon Arch (Doctor Who), Doctor please talk to someone, Drama, F/F, Human Doctor (Doctor Who), Hurt/Comfort, I promise Ryan and Graham are going to play a large part in this too, Memory Loss, Mystery, Non-graphic Injury description, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, and please let Yaz hug you, it's a chameleon arch fic! or is it?, just Yaz is my main narrative perspective, this is ambitious let's hope i can pull it off hey, well yes it is but i've made it more complex because i cannot help myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkerLister/pseuds/WalkerLister
Summary: 'Yaz had always said that the Doctor was the definition of impossible, but the kind of impossible which made you wonder whether the stars had souls and the moon a face, not the kind which turned your stomach and sent your skin prickling with horror....'Yasmin Khan cannot remember what happened, only that the Doctor is in trouble, but stranded on Earth with no Tardis, and with no idea where the Doctor is, how will she able to help her?And who is the mysterious blonde woman who has the Doctor's face but only one heartbeat?And why does it feel like the world around Yaz is twisting and changing?With too many questions with no answers, finding the Doctor might prove impossible for Team Tardis.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 120
Kudos: 99





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anobii1992](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anobii1992/gifts).



> Hello! This is an idea I've been playing with for months now- I've given the plot a bit of a tweak, because I cannot let anything ever just be simple, so I'm finalising the plan now and I've got pieces written from its first form which i can adapt, so bear with me! 
> 
> This is a birthday gift for Anobii1992- so Happy Birthday Anobii! I hope you like it! :D
> 
> TW: Non-graphic description of injury

Graham is washing dishes, music playing on the battered stereo which sits on the kitchen table. Every now and then a slightly tuneless wail comes from his mouth, carrying throughout the terrace house. Ryan sighs, tipping his head back as he is treated to another screeching crone from downstairs.

“For god’s sake.” He mutters, flinging his textbook closed and rising from his chair, stiff muscles stretching after being sat in one position for hours. This degree might be the death of him, and the university lecturers are nothing compared to the Doctor.

The Doctor…

He has not seen the Doctor for months now, not since he and Graham had made the decision to end their travels with her aboard the Tardis full time. She had reappeared very suddenly that last autumn, looking haggard and worse for wear, stating, to their horror, she had broken out of prison. She had escaped from Gallifrey, from the Master and his creatures, but had been captured on her way back to them. They had waited months, mourned for her, tried, and in Yaz’s case failed, to move on, and then she had suddenly appeared, not quite her jubilant self but rather a ghost of what Ryan had thought was a past life, stumbling from her Tardis. And explanations, as they had been before they had left her with a primed detonator in a broken citadel, were scant, but there had been a desperation seeping from her which had made them all realise that demanding something of her then, when a prison break seemed to have taken it out of her, would have done more harm than good, and then… well, she had been ready to whiz off again, but Ryan.. He had felt too settled back into Sheffield, into his life and friends there, that he had chosen to stay, and, if he were honest with himself, tired of seeking answers which might never materialise. And whilst the Doctor was dodging whatever was biting at her heels Ryan felt ready to make change for the better on his home planet, to face his past mistakes, and the future mistakes which had spooked him, of what Earth might become. The Doctor had shown him so much, and he had learnt and grown more than he might have expected on their travels; a trip around the universe and Ryan finally found it in him to live life on Earth once more. It had been a slog, but he had worked to apply for university, to enrol on an engineering course, with plans for designing more sustainable solutions to human progress, and with success had come the confirmation for him that he had made the right decision in stopping running from Earth; he had something to live for there, now.

Graham had not felt comfortable continuing on with the Doctor and leaving Ryan on Earth; he was his grandfather now, _properly,_ and facing the house where Grace would no longer dwell was easier for both of them _together_ , now that time had passed and swirled around them in an impossible box and their wounds had healed to scars, still present but no longer bleeding. And whilst he would not admit it, Ryan could see age was catching up to Graham in his joints and his heart. They could not all have regenerating bodies and keep running even at thousands of years old; they were only human, after all. And running was no good for Ryan and Graham, now. Earth needed them, and they needed Earth.

But that is not to say the occasional trip with the Doctor might be good once in a while, but it has been months now since their goodbye, and Ryan has begun to wonder whether she might ever turn up again. But of course she would, because Yaz was with her.

Yaz….

Yaz had taken the Doctor’s death harder than the two of them, and, taking after her, had remained clammed up as to the reasons, but it was clear as day to the two men, and Ryan had stayed with her through many sleepless nights as their eyes had roamed the sky for the sight of a box amongst those stars; a sign, _any_ sign as to whether she might have possibly survived. He had watched as Yaz’s heart bled, still dripping even when that day in October had come, and the Doctor had stumbled back into their lives. Without a second’s doubt he knew she would still continue to follow the Doctor into the stars, still be unsatisfied with her life on Earth; he does wonder whether Yaz’s bravery, her determination might be best alongside the Doctor, helping the universe, rather than Sheffield. Whether she might be the one to help the Doctor with whatever had begun to chip away at her, ever since the Master had reared his head, blown up a plane, and threatened universal destruction.

Some days Ryan wonders if he will ever know exactly what happened, wonders whether they actually _did_ know who the Doctor was, after all, with all the secrets she had kept close to her hearts. Hiding them from them, or possibly protecting them from those secrets.

Ryan understands, what it is like to want to keep secrets from those closest to you, even when they call you their family, but… they _had_ been a chosen family, each one of them making the decision to come along for the ride, _together._ Maybe such principles did not occur to a thousands of years old alien whose species Ryan knows only by name, not by nature.

He had been satisfied, had tried to ease her worries by reassuring her they did not care for who she had been, only who she was now, but he does wonder, what lies beyond blonde hair and rainbow clothes. Four words, and Ryan wonders what lurks behind them.

_You don’t know me._

He trusts in Yaz to be by her side, to perhaps glean a glimpse inside her head. And now, he is happy to be on planet Earth, doing his best to change it for the better, knowing he is not limited to it, but also not limited _on_ it as well.

Well, _right_ now he is getting more and more irritated by Graham’s terrible singing. He makes his way downstairs, switching on the hall light as he goes, the growing darkness outside creeping in through the windows.

“Grandad, please, keep it down would ya?” He pleads as he walks into the kitchen. “I don’t think I can take much more of your wailing.”

“ _Wailing?”_ Graham protests, turning to Ryan with soapy hands. “I’ll have you know, son, that I was runner up in the 1981 Southend talent competition.”

“Oh right, makes you eligible for a Brit Award, does it?” Ryan teases. Graham sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Alright, fine. Look, stereo’s there, you change it to what you want. Only, not that rappy grime stuff you like.”

Ryan waves his hand. “Nah, you keep it on, just please shut your trap.”

“Alright, alright, I concede defeat.” Graham says, returning to the dishes. Just then, the doorbell rings, and the two men turn to each frowning.

“Get that would you, Ryan son?” Graham says.

“Don’t know who that could be…” Ryan says, moving through into the front room. A frantic pounding comes at the door, then, and something cold trickles down Ryan’s spine, a sense of foreboding that makes his heart start to pound faster. He throws open the door, and feel his eyes widen as they settle on the figure in front of him.

It is Yaz, a worse-for-wear looking Yaz, whose face is grave, eyes dark, lashes fluttering. “Ryan....” She groans, and then she collapses forwards, and it is all Ryan can do to jump forward and catch her before she hits the ground. 

* * *

Yaz is aware of voices, but they echo as if coming to her from down a long tunnel. There are other voices, too, which seem closer, their timbre tinny and almost painful, grating on her ears. Someone screams, and Yaz clenches her eyes shut, crying out.

“S’alright, love.” A voice from the tunnel says. “You sure we shouldn’t call an ambulance, Ryan?”

“I-” Another voice says, but Yaz finds enough energy in herself to protest.

“No,” She mumbles, pulling against something which holds her arms. “No hospitals.”

“She’s been hanging ‘round the Doctor too much.” The second voice says. Yaz feels a sudden panic at the sound of that name, as if she needs to find someone, see if they are alright…

“Doctor.” She mumbles.

“Let’s get her on the couch.” The first voice says, and then Yaz feels herself being lifted and sat on something soft and comfortable, and she sighs despite herself, revelling in the comfort.

“Yaz?” The second voice says, and there is a soft hand on her cheek. “Yaz? Can you hear me?”

“Hmm.” She tests her tongue, her mouth. “Ryan?”

There is a sigh of relief. “Yeah. S’me, Yaz. What happened?”

“I don’t…” She cracks her eyes open, suddenly becoming aware that they were closed, and warm light hits them, making her wince. Ryan must notice, as there a shuffling sound and then something is being clicked and another thing switched off.

“Okay.” He says. “Try now.”

Yaz does, prising her eyes open, and is met with a much dimmer light which does not make the headache pounding in her skull like a drum flare up with a harsher beat. She lets out a few controlled breaths, fighting back the nausea in the back of her throat. She blinks, the fuzzy film on her eyes breaking up slowly, and then a face in front of her, brow creased with worry, comes into focus.

“Yaz.” Ryan says. “You alright?”

She tries to nod, but instantly regrets it when the pain in her head strikes her like lightning, and she gasps, hands curling into fists. Ryan takes one of those hands in his own, loosening her grip and providing a spot of comfort as she fights the rising tide of nausea.

“Here, some water.”

“Cheers, grandad.” Ryan says, and he places the glass of water in Yaz’s free hand, encouraging her to take a sip. It is a cool nectar which soothes her throat and quells the nausea down. She lets out a shaky breath, sipping more of the water until she feels much more restored, much more grounded.

“Oh god, you’re bleeding.” Graham mutters, and then footsteps are moving quickly, getting quieter and then louder again, and the sofa is dipping and very gently something cool is pressed to the side of her head. Yaz hisses, and the cool thing pulls back just a little.

“Sorry, love.” Graham murmurs. “Ryan, grab your nan’s first aid kit, will ya? It’s in the back of the far cupboard.”

The warm hand in hers suddenly disappears, and Yaz feels strangely bereft without its comfort. Graham gently dabs the side of her head, making apologetic murmurs every time Yaz gasps.

She sits, fazing in and out of reality, as the two men tend to her head wound, glass of water going limp in her grip. Impressively Ryan catches it before it can spill on the floor and sets it on the side table. Graham is incredibly calm and assured as he disinfects the wound and ensures it does not need stiches; she wonders if he probably learnt that all from Grace.

“There.” He says, and his soothing tone has an undercurrent of worry. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital, Yaz? You might have a concussion.”

“No.” She murmurs. “No, I need to…”

“Need to what, mate?” Ryan says, shifting in his position next to her. He takes her hand again.

“The Doctor…” Yaz murmurs. Those voices which had been tinny in her ears echo their words again, and she winces, trying hard to hear what they are saying….

_“Look, there is another way, you really don’t have to do this…”_

_…_

_“You don’t know what you’re doing-_ I _don’t know what you’re doing but I’m really not…”_

_…_

_“No, please, don’t touch her, I…”_

_…_

The words are fragmented, broken into shards that Yaz cannot quite piece together.

_“…Dangerous!”_

_“…Not the right mechanism…”_

There is one thing she is certain of.

“The Doctor, she’s in trouble.” She says.

Behind her back, Ryan and Graham share a look.

“Do you know where she is? Did you get here in the Tardis?”

Yaz stutters, brain buffering as she dredges through the hazy fog of her memories. “I… I don’t think so…I think we were captured…”

“Captured? What, by humans?”

“No,” She shakes her head. “They were… I don’t know _what_ they were, I…” She blinks. “They wanted the Doctor…. We need to help her!” She says frantically, thoughts drifting down a river of panic.

“We don’t even know where she is.” Graham says. “Was she with you when you turned up here?”

A flashing light, Yaz’s own scream as something touched her head, and then the feeling of falling, of hitting the ground, slicing her head open… “No, no, she’s still with them… we need to find them.”

She makes to move, but both men grab at her arms. “Woah, woah, woah.” Ryan says. “Yaz, mate, you can’t go anywhere right now, not in your condition.”

“Ryan, she’s in trouble. I think- I think they did something to her!” She protests, although her head is swimming, patches of darkness kaleidoscope around the edges of her vision.

“Yaz, you rest. I’ll go, I’ll see if I can find her.” Ryan reassures her. “See if there’s any sign of the Tardis, too.” 

He squeezes her hand before letting it go, moving off the sofa. Graham encourages her to lay back, and she protests, but her body is weak, limp like a noodle, and she feels her back hit the sofa and lets out a soft sigh at how comfortable it is.

“Be careful, son.” Graham says, and then there is the sound of keys clacking and a door closing. Silence reigns after, broken only by Yaz’s harsh breathing as she deals with the pain. She closes her eyes, giving in to the temptation to sleep.

“She’ll be alright, Yaz.” Graham reassures her as he covers her with a blanket. “She always is. Well, on way or another.”

Yaz, though, could feel it in her bones, that this time the Doctor might not be alright. 


	2. A Funny Way to Have Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on the last chapter, i hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> EDIT: this is a repost

**Part One: Suadade**

Images and sounds come to Yaz like shards of glass, broken and fragmented. She twists, head moving from side to side as the voices call like sirens of warning, or rather, one voice, broken into disparate pieces so that their words and sentences are mismatched, no patterns forming.

_No, please, don’t touch her, I… Yaz, Yaz you’re going to be alright…_

_Yaz…. No, you don’t understand… This isn’t…_

_Dangerous…._

“Yaz?”

_This isn’t the way…._

“Yaz?”

_No, please! Please, don’t…._

The Doctor is begging, and Yaz cannot help her. She needs to _help her_!

“Yaz! Yaz!”

Yaz shoots awake, gasping as she jolts herself into a sitting position, and then wincing as a sharp pain like a dagger shoots through her head. Or maybe it is those shards of glass memory, so easily breakable, slipping away from her now that she is awake, that is causing her distress.

“Yaz! You alright, cockle?” A voice asks, and Yaz blinks confusedly at Graham, who is leant over her, face marred with concern. He has a tea towel slung over one shoulder, and Yaz can hear the sound of a pan sizzling and the low monotonous sound of voices blaring over slightly crackling static. That is how Yaz’s head feels right now: staticky, as if she cannot quite grasp anything for certain.

“Where… what day is it?” She asks, hand coming up to tentatively prod at the wound on her forehead. Graham takes her hand in his warm and calloused grip before she can touch it.

“S’alright, cockle, it’s quite nasty but it’s not bleeding anymore.” Graham reassures her. “And it’s a Tuesday, love.”

“Right…” Yaz mutters, as if that means anything to her. She thinks what she meant to say was ‘where am I’, but the words had got confused in her dazed stupor. She is on Earth, she understands that now, with Graham leaning over her and the feel of his cushy sofa underneath her. She is on Earth but…

“Have you seen any sign of her, Graham?” Yaz asks him. “Has Ryan found her?”

Graham’s face creases even further. “’Fraid not love. Wherever the Doctor is, it’s not round here.”

“We need to find her, we’ve got to help her, she’s in trouble.” Yaz tries to insist, swinging her legs off the sofa. When she attempts to get up, however, Graham places both his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back down.

“You can’t go anywhere like this, love.” He says to her. “You’re in no state. We need to take care of you first. We can discuss this after you’ve had something to eat and drink.”

“But…” Yaz tries to protest, but it is weak, and Graham’s squeeze to her shoulders is enough to make her lean back against the sofa.

“You just rest there, Yaz.” Graham says with a kind smile. “You never know, she might be trying to get to us right now. Might get here whilst we’re getting you sorted.”

He tries to reassure her, but the words are like bitter pills on his tongue with how empty of true meaning they really are, and they both know it. But Yaz smiles gratefully, knowing she must have given both him and Ryan quite the shock turning up so suddenly.

Graham gives her one last pat on the shoulder before he heads back through to the kitchen, keeping the door open so he can still keep an eye on her. Yaz rubs at her eyes, beginning to feel slightly more grounded to reality, able to tell the difference between dream and reality. Or rather, reality and memory.

What had happened? Where was the Doctor? Why can’t she remember? The gash on her head crackles with pain but it is not that, Yaz can feel it instinctively in her gut, it is not that which is causing the memory loss…

So, what is it then?

“Yaz, hey!” A voice calls, and Yaz is dragged from her thoughts to see Ryan stood in front of her, concern creasing his brow as he looks down at his best friend. His fingers twitch by his sides. Worried. And he has no pockets to shove his hands into, so twitch they do. “How are you feelin’?”

Yaz attempts to raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘how do you think’, but it catches at the gash and she winces instead, hissing through her teeth. That does the trick enough.

“Silly question, sorry.” Ryan says. He comes to the sofa and plonks down next to her. After a moment spent in silence, Yaz rubbing at her forehead, Ryan says. “M’sorry. I looked for ages, hours, but there’s no sign of her, or the Tardis.”

Yaz sighs. “S’okay. Thank you for looking. I didn’t think there would be. I don’t think…” Yaz blinks, a shard stabbing into her eyes. A flash of a place, something her brain cannot quite comprehend. “I don’t think we were on Earth.”

“Then, how are you _here?_ ” Ryan asks her.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember much. I think…. I think my memory got wiped.” She says, voice wavering slightly at the thought. It is a difficult one to swallow, and it is lodged in Yaz’s throat at the moment. She breathes out through her mouth. “Something feels bad, Ryan, really bad…”

“When you say bad, do you mean worse than Gallifrey bad or….?” Ryan asks, dread tinging his tone.

Yaz thinks. Gallifrey bad… well, she would not have thought anything could have been worse than Gallifrey bad, but this…. no idea where the Doctor, again, not knowing whether she is dead or alive, _again,_ and with how the woman had been acting with Yaz before all this happened…. “Worse.” She croaks out, and Ryan sits backwards, letting out a long breath. “Worse than Gallifrey.”

“Right. We need to sit down and talk about this properly.” He says, doing his best to keep his calm. Oh Ryan. Yaz has been amazed at how much better he has become at dealing with stressful situations since their travels, how much he has grown; were it to translate to physical height, he would be a giant right about now. She suddenly feels comforted by his solid presence, and Graham’s care, and Yaz lets out a shaky breath, getting a hold of herself before it all becomes too much. “But first, I think Graham’s making something for dinner. And you need some water.” 

* * *

Yaz leans back against her chair, letting out a long breath, feeling full and content in her fullness. The food and the water have cleared her head somewhat, and the tea she now sips rejuvenates her soul, until she finds herself blinking past the slight throb from her forehead, the painkillers Graham had provided kicking in. She feels sharper, not up to her usual speed but… coherent enough that she can talk without feeling like she is going to crumble in on herself.

“That were proper, thanks grandad.” Ryan says as he leans back in his own chair, smacking his lips together.

“Tah, it were rather good if I don’t say so myself.” Graham says, slapping his thigh lightly. Both men fall silent and look to Yaz expectantly. Graham’s eyes flick from her to Ryan and then back. “Yaz love, if you don’t feel up to it-”

“No, it’s okay.” Yaz assures him, taking a sip of her tea. “Just… where do you want me to start?”

“Do you remember what happened to get you like this?” Ryan asks. “I know you said you think you had your memory wiped but…”

“Only fragments.” Yaz replies, her fingers fiddling with her fork where is rests on her empty plate. “That’s why I think the Doctor’s in trouble…” Yaz’s eyes close as she tentatively touches the sharp tips of those fragments. “I can hear her voice warning against something. She was trying to protect me, too… but I don’t know from what.”

“S’alright, love, don’t push yourself.” Graham reassures, putting his hand over his. Yaz forces her eyes open and looks at him, worry written over her face in a miserable scribble.

“Yaz, were the Doctor….” Ryan begins, and then winces as he tries to find the right words. “Were she… well, how _was_ she with you?”

Of course, the boys have not seen the Doctor since she turned up after her prison break, and then she had been…. Well, out of sorts would be putting it nicely, but in being out of sorts she had still not told them anything past her prison break and Kosharmus’s sacrifice in her stead on Gallifrey. That had been all. To Yaz, that seems so long ago, now, she and the Doctor… well….

“She was non-stop.” Yaz replies, straightening. Worry nags like a constant itch, and confusion stabs in a constant pain, and with the both of them nudging at her Yaz rubs at her eyes, her mind begins to make connections between shards of glass and crystal-clear recollection. “I think that’s why we were where we were… She was looking for… some _thing…_ ”

_Not long to go now, Yaz…._

_If I can just pinpoint…_

Yaz pulls herself from the ruins of her memory with a sharp breath, blinking rapidly. Sticking to the solid remembrance, she continues to answer Ryan’s question. “I don’t know what it was but… She wouldn’t talk to me about anything. Not Gallifrey, not the Master, not prison. None of it. But I could tell she was preoccupied with something, but anytime I asked, and even when I got short ‘bout it, she wouldn’t…” Yaz huffs, fingers fidgeting with the fork agitatedly once again. “It was starting to get reckless, she was starting to put us at risk…” 

* * *

_Yaz slouches on one of the steps in the main console room, feeling the familiar comfort of the Tardis surrounding her, warming her from the inside as she watches the Doctor bend over the console, face tight with concentration. Yaz sighs. Here they go again._

_Yaz thinks it must have been months, now, although it is hard to keep a sense of linear time in the Tardis, that the Doctor has held that expression on her face, darting around the console and sending them spinning into places, a search disguised as a holiday._

_A ‘search’ is the only word Yaz can think to define whatever it is they are doing when the Doctor leads them both out onto alien planets, to stars in the far reaches of the universe, to warships and cruise ships which cut through space like the ocean, for while Yaz has tried, desperately tried, to make the most of each trip, even when concern had been growing and festering like a wound inside her, the Doctor had always come away disappointed, a little deflated, no matter how hard she tried not to show it._

_And nothing Yaz can do, or say, can get her to talk._

_She should have expected this, it is not like the Doctor had been talkative and open about herself, but Yaz had thought, perhaps foolishly, perhaps after months of grieving this impossible woman, that she might finally get answers; that the miracle of the Doctor being alive might catalyse the miracle of the Doctor opening up. But the Doctor had reappeared in smoke, stumbling from the Tardis with her hair longer, face thinner and perhaps even more closed off than she had been before. There was a desperate look in her eyes when she had offered that they continue to travel, and with Ryan and Graham backing off, and Yaz’s own desire to get out of the oppressive feel of Sheffield, of_ Earth, _Yaz had leapt at the chance, holding a hope that maybe_ then, _the Doctor might talk. That what she was desperate for was an ear to listen, and that Yaz was that ear._

_But to no avail. Yaz is not a friend to listen, she is a companion. A tag-along. Someone there for the Doctor to speak_ at, _not to, and quite frankly, frustration is overcoming concern and Yaz is reaching the end of her tether. What the Doctor was desperate for was for someone to keep her company but not ask her any difficult questions, and up until this point Yaz has been tolerating being cast in that role, but she has self-respect, and it wars with her affection for the other woman until Yaz’s head spins._

_It hurts, too, like a constant ache in her stomach, to be treated like this; she does not want to hurt the Doctor further, would_ never _want to hurt her, but she is getting worn down, is being charred at the edges, and self-defence rises like battlement walls at the constant need for nothing but a preoccupation from her. The thought of being alone with the Doctor had filled her with delight, at first, but she realises now, as both their patience wears thin, that she was imagining the Doctor from_ before- _before the Master, before the Lone Cyberman, before Gallifrey and all that had come after… for the Doctor after is a woman Yaz does not recognise, not at times, like a shadow of her former self, trapped in this frantic search._

_Yaz had always said that the Doctor was the definition of impossible, but the kind of impossible which made you wonder whether the stars had souls and the moon a face, not the kind which turned your stomach and sent your skin prickling with horror. And in that horror Yaz finds herself faltering, stumbling, questions on the tip of her tongue now reluctant to leave her mouth. Maybe the blonde hair and silly expressions are deceptive for the secrets the Doctor keeps close to both her hearts; alien she is in biology, and alien she is becoming in nature._

_She does not know whether it was prison, or whether it was the Master, or Gallifrey, but all Yaz knows at this moment, as she sits slumped in the corner watching a preoccupied Doctor, is that she is sick of being the collateral for whatever the Doctor has gone through and is currently dealing with; supportive friend, fine. Pet for comfort, no way._

_“Not long to go now, Yaz.” The Doctor remarks, a cheery façade belying tension. “If I can just pinpoint the exact point at which we need to land…” She trails off, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration. Yaz sighs, getting to her feet, and she makes her slow way over to the Doctor’s side._

_“And where are we going, exactly?” She asks, crossing her arms._

_“Oh, you’re gonna love it, Yaz!” The Doctor assures her, barely glancing her way. Her fingers twist knobs and switches as she twists away from an explanation._

_“Will I?” Yaz feels brave enough to question, fuelled by frustration. Yaz has never liked feeling out of the loop, not knowing all the information needed for her to_ do _something. “Or will this be another stop off on your wild goose chase?”_

_The Doctor tenses for a milli-second, so quick you might not notice unless you were Yaz and you had been privy to this performance for a long while now, but soon her face smooths into a faux goofiness._

_“Wild what?” The Doctor says, still obfuscating. “Although, I did actually take part in a literal wild goose chase once. It were good fun! Bit messy, though… I were hours getting mud out of my shoes…”_

_“Doctor.” Yaz says, voice tinged with warning. The Doctor slides away from her to the other side of the console, twisting and twisting._

_“And I did have to beg the use of her ladyship’s private car in order to reach my goose. Had to stand on the bonnet. I really did pay for that…” The Doctor continues rambling, fingers moving furiously over the console. They are moving towards the unknown, and the Doctor is hiding._

_“Doctor.” Yaz says more firmly this time, and she sees the Doctor stumble both physically and mentally. She finally relents and looks up at Yaz, shoulders hunched, hands braced on the edge of the console. Just like all those times before, with the boys, in the direct aftermath of the Master; wary, prone to scamper. “Where are we going?”_

_The Doctor winces, but finally, she answers a question. “I can’t tell you.”_

_Or not._

_“Why?” Yaz demands, stepping nearer. The Doctor does not back off, at least._

_“No, I-” The Doctor’s mouth twitches. “I can’t tell you because even I don’t know. Not exactly.”_

_So much for ‘you’re gonna love it, Yaz.’_

_“Is it what you’ve been searching for?” Yaz asks._

_“I haven’t been searching for anything.” The Doctor replies, and Yaz gives her a long look._

_“Haven’t you?” Yaz asks her, eyebrows raised. Expectational._

_The Doctor’s eyes flicker to her briefly before they settle back on the console. “I’ve been taking you places, showing you things, giving you what you always wanted. More of the universe. I missed you. I missed having fun with you.”_

_“This is a strange way of having fun.” Yaz replies. “We’ve been all over the shop. Barely stopping. And whilst I appreciate you wanted to show me things, Doctor, it doesn’t mean as much if you’re acting like you are. You barely talk to me, and when you do it’s just… nonsense.” She says, her words not cutting, just… sad. Anger will get her nowhere, not uncontrolled anger that is not channelled into something edging towards rational; Yaz has been trained to know that much. “Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed something’s been up with you for a long time, Doctor? Have you wanted me to, what, just be appeased with the bare crumbs I get?” And now, anger is tinging Yaz’s tone, anger fuelled by more passionate feelings. “I can’t enjoy these things half as much if you’re not enjoying them with me. How can I just stand by and see you so preoccupied by whatever’s bothering you?”_

_The Doctor’s eyes close very briefly, regret flashing across her face, and Yaz feels a flare of victory. “I just wanted to protect you.” She replies, tone clipped by something close to sadness. “There’s some things you don’t need to know.”_

_“I get that you want privacy, but you’ve been hurting me, Doctor. Hurting me because…. Because it feels like you don’t trust me. And it worries me, to see you like this because-” Yaz cuts herself off, swallowing._ Keep cool Khan. _“I’ve felt like a tagalong. Just something there to make you feel less lonely even while you shut yourself off even more. It’s not fair. Not on either of us.”_

_The Doctor’s hands go white-knuckled on her grip on the console. Her eyes hold that alien, unknowable quality she has become less and less good at hiding recently. It sends a shiver down Yaz’s spine. “I wish I could tell you, Yaz.” She whispers, and admission, and Yaz steps closer, sensing a chance to edge her way in._

_“Would it be easier if you showed me?” She enquires._

_“I don’t know. I think you should stay in the Tardis. This could be dangerous.” The Doctor says, straightening and putting her hand to the lever, ready to push. Push, pushing Yaz away, pushing both of them to their limits. Yaz huffs. It is getting really hard to keep her patience, now._

_“What? And leave you on your own? No, no way!” She immediately protests._

_“I’m fine on my own.” The Doctor replies._

_“Are you?” Yaz retorts in reply before she can stop herself. The Doctor freezes, hand tightening on the lever. Unspoken words, and in the psychic mystery of the Tardis Yaz almost seems to see the images of the Doctor with hooded eyes, dark with stress (‘Home. On my own.’), of how shadows have lingered in her eyes ever since her prison break. A year, she had told them. A year in prison. On her own, and she had returned this shadow, a spectre of herself._

_“I should have dropped you back in Sheffield before this, I shouldn’t have got too caught up in it…” The Doctor mutters, more to herself than to Yaz. “Stupid, always putting them in danger even when I don’t mean to.”_

_“So, this is dangerous, then?” Yaz replies. So much for ‘you’re gonna love it, Yaz.’ Indignation and sudden worry flare inside her. Why is the Doctor putting herself in danger? on the wings of her enigmatic nature, Yaz feels dread pool in her stomach. “Doctor, why are you putting yourself in danger?”_

_“I’m not, not doing it on purpose.” The Doctor says, fingers twisting and tightening on the lever. “Besides, might not be dangerous.”_

_“Then why can’t I come?” Yaz asks, and the question brings the Doctor up short and her mouth closes with a ‘click’._ Good, _Yaz thinks. Catching her at her own game._

_“Because I don’t know what to expect.” The Doctor says, eyes, for once, openly and earnestly honest. “I meant what I said, I really don’t know what we’re facing here, only….” She licks her lips. “This is the only chance I’ve got to know, to get the answers I want.”_

_“And the answers you don’t want me to know.” Yaz replies sardonically, and the Doctor’s eyes flash with anger, but it flickers and dies into embers as she seems to understand where Yaz is coming from, finally understand her frustration and fear._

_“After.” She finally relents. “I’ll tell you after, once I’ve done this. I promise.”_

_‘After’ is not much, and is certainly not assured, but it is something. Yaz can feel something else coming, though…_

_“Just so long as you stay in the Tardis.” The Doctor adds, and Yaz huffs, throwing her arms up in frustration._

_“Tell me or don’t tell me but don’t give me this ultimatum like I’m a child!”_

_“No! No, that’s not what I meant.” The Doctor says, and Yaz can see her fingers, where they are curled around the lever, are trembling. Yaz freezes, watching their movement with a sudden cold chill falling over her. The Tardis lights seem to dip. “Just… please, Yaz? Give me this?”_

_But Yaz cannot help but feel that is not as much of a reassurance as the Doctor wants it to be, and it is as if the slim pickings she has now been offered are even worse than the complete blindness she has had before; it is like switching on a torch in a darkened room, coming face to face with shapes which lurk in shadows that incite fear in mocking, being made only of mundane things. Better to remain ignorant. Better to remain in the dark, than to feel as if one has been made a fool of. The Doctor has played her cards very close to her chest, and in doing so has played the game of Yaz’s head and heart the wrong way. Yaz has never been one to shy from the unexplained, she faces danger, but she is not without caution; playing her for the fool as the Doctor has has turned what might have been Yaz compromising with her ask towards defying it. Yaz had been the one to march across the boundary into Gallifrey to save her, and in doing so had ultimately not been able to; even though the Doctor is alive she is not living like she used to, and if Yaz hasn’t had enough of standing by and watching it happen!_

_Sometimes, one does not know what is best for them, and maybe Yaz does not know what is best for her in doing this, but the Doctor cannot keep shrouding herself in secrecy, not from Yaz, not when the thing she might need is someone by her side to face this with her. To not be alone. And so, when the Doctor pulls down the lever and the Tardis takes off, Yaz slowly edges her way towards the doors, so that once they have landed with a resounding thump, she is first to them, hand on the latch._

_The Doctor might be angry, might kick her off the Tardis afterwards, but at least Yaz would know, would finally understand the woman who has taken hold of her heart and been squeezing it so viciously. Without warning, she opens the Tardis door and steps out…._

* * *

“That’s it, that’s the last thing I properly remember.” She says, voice catching at pain as her battered brain fails to recount what came after. “The rest is like fragments of things, I can’t remember much, just… words.”

Graham and Ryan stare at her, taking in what she has just recounted. Yaz feels slightly self-conscious.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed out like that, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position, she wouldn’t be in danger like she is now if I hadn’t.” She confesses, rubbing her forehead, worry churning in her stomach.

“I can’t blame you though, cocle.” Graham replies, voice quiet and wandering. “If she were really like that the whole time, and you were barely getting’ anything.”

“yeah, it was bad enough when we all three were on board, just after the Master.” Ryan agrees. “You, facing that alone…. It can’t have been easy Yaz.”

“Was I foolish?” She asks them, desperation lacing her tone, injured body still recovering, taking its toll on her ability to hold herself together. “Was I stupid to think _I_ might be the one she would open up to? That she would trust me?”

“No, no, love, I don’t think so.” Graham reassures her, putting a warm hand over he own. It is comforting and grounding, bringing Yaz back to the here and now after being stuck in her memories for so long. “It’s just… well, the Doc’s an alien, isn’t’ she? There’s a lot we don’t know about her. I don’t think it’s fair to judge her on human standards, and therefore, I don’t’ think it’s fair to judge how you tried to help her by _your_ human standards.”

“Yeah, who knows how she was treated and told to behave by those Timelord people.” Ryan chimes in. “Seemed like a stuffy old bunch, going by what we saw of the place. Destroyed as it was. They must have been all about strong upper lid.”

“I think you did brilliantly, Yaz, being so patient with her.” Graham reassures her, eyes kind. “The Doc must have been grateful. I know she would not have wanted to hurt you on purpose.”

Yaz’s eyes clench shut, then, Graham’s words triggering something in her mind, sharp fragment stabbing her.

_No, let me do it! Give me that at least- let me do it!_

The Doctor’s voice.

“Yaz?” Graham’s worried voice calls. Yaz forces her eyes open, blinking away the black spots which swim in front of her for a moment.

“Whatever she was looking for, it hurt her, but it must have been important, because why else would she go to the lengths she did?” Yaz asks the room, not expecting an answer, but putting the theory out there.

“Maybe it’s something to do with all of that before, you know, like, the Master, and Gallifrey….” Ryan suggests. “He meddled, did something to her on that planet and we have no idea what…”

“And she’s been stewin’ in prison for a year, I mean, that would get to anybody.” Graham reasons.

“There’s so much we still don’t know,” Ryan says, turning to Yaz with reassurance. “I think you did the best you could with what you had, Yaz.”

“She said she was thousands of years old.” Yaz says, and a lone tear travels the expanse of her cheek. “We must seem like flies to them. I must have seemed like an irritating buzz to her.”

“Yaz, mate, stop.” Ryan tells her, getting up from his chair and rounding the table, crouching down next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “There’s no use in wondering about those things, not now, when you’re the only one who knows she is in danger and the only one who can do something to help. I don’t think that makes you small or inconsequential, do you?”

“But how do we do that, Ry?” Yaz asks him, hands splayed palm upward, empty, nothing to offer. “How can we try and find her and help her?”

Ryan’s face twists, and across the table Graham’s is shadowed with the lingering fear they all hold, that no matter what they try, it might not be enough.

“We’ll think of something.” Ryan says, words so close to being hopeful but not quite hitting the mark.

Yaz feels like all she has been doing recently is not quite hitting the mark. 

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

Bleary eyes greet the sunlight with reluctance, and Yaz groans, an arm finding its way past the barrier of her duvet to switch off the alarm which screeches into the early morning. She takes a moment to lie in bed, feeling her body switch on for the day, the lightness in her mind that comes with sleep being replaced with the remembrance and pain that comes with every day she is without the Doctor.

It has been two weeks since she showed up on Ryan and Graham’s doorstep, and every day has felt like a battle, the sword and shield in Yaz’s hands heavy. She shields herself from the grief and pain and fights with what she can do. Hours upon hours have she, Ryan and Graham spent searching for the Tardis, for any sign of the Doctor, and they have come up empty handed. All that they have now exists on a corkboard in Yaz’s room. She peers up at it from her supine position, seeing the newspaper clippings and printed out articles. Anything she finds that she thinks might be connected to the Doctor, or extra-terrestrial activity, she adds to it. As weapons go, it is quite flimsy, a sword made of carboard and cork and bits of paper, but it is all she has.

Yaz sighs, propping herself up on her elbows. It looks to be another dreary day, if the wan light glowing from behind her curtains is anything to go by. And a double shift beckons. She runs a hand over her face. She has brought this on herself, taking on as many shifts as she can to stop herself from falling into the tried grief which had stalked after the Doctor had left them on Gallifrey. She goes through the motions, does not find much joy in the thankless work that she does but… it keeps her busy, keeps her mind straying to thoughts of what could have been done and was not done, overthinking how she acted or reacted, and it keeps her from trying to read too much into the snippets that are pinned on the cork board. It keeps her grounded in everyday life in Sheffield, forces her to realise the reality of her situation. She must go on as best she can without causing too much suspicion, and in doing so convince both herself and others that this is not grief. She is not grieving the Doctor because the Doctor is not dead.

She is not dead.

Her eyes linger on the picture of her and the Doctor she keeps by her bedside, both of them smiling into the camera. One of the Doctor’s rare genuine smiles of joy. So rarely seen in so many months. Yaz smiles back at her.

“Onwards.” She mutters. 

* * *

Yaz wishes she could ask the Doctor if time is able of moving both incredibly slowly and incredibly fast at the same time, or if time does move in any particular way at all. The day has dragged its heels in, but Yaz only remembers slivers. A crying baby here, a parking dispute there, and as night draws in and she blinks lazily, chin resting on the heel of her hand, she wonders if she might be doomed to live out this day forever and ever and never find the warm comfort of her bed at the end of it.

Yaz’s is only half-aware of the world when a call comes through on the comms, her chin sliding off her hand as she straightens in the passenger seat of her patrol vehicle, and she blinks to clear the film from her eyes as her shift partner, Nigel, receives the message, confirming their receival.

“Reports of a theft on Powell Street.” Nigel says, pulling his seatbelt across his chest. “Don’t sound that serious, but apparently whoever phoned was being very insistent we come.”

“Fine.” Yaz sighs and allows her eyes to glaze over again as Nigel starts the car and they head towards another tedious case.

Yaz is greeted to a brisk wind which carries raised voices as she and Nigel exit the car once they have parked up at the end of the street. She sighs as they approach, making out four figures, one a woman who is facing their way, her face distorted by anger, and two men, who hold the arms of the fourth figure, trapping the person between them. Something rests on the ground in the middle of the group, and Yaz frowns as she recognises it as a microwave, the front casing having fallen off to reveal the mechanisms beneath.

“I’ve warned ya before, I’ve tried to be fair, but this is a step too far- ah, here they are now!” The woman says, her face lighting up when she spots Yaz and Nigel. A smug and haughty demeanour overtakes her, and she adopts an overly friendly tone with the two officers which grates on Yaz’s already frayed nerves.

“Alright, what’s going on here, then?” Nigel asks.

“She was trying to steal my microwave!” The woman accuses, pointing a finger at the figure captured between the two men. Yaz frowns. It seems a little heavy handed for these two men to be holding this woman, who is considerably shorter and, underneath the layers of her bulky clothing and the beanie hat which covers her hair, seems to be of a small frame.

“You mean to tell me, madam, that she broke into your house to steal your _microwave?”_ Nigel says, sounding a little perplexed.

“No, the microwave were on the doorstep. It’s going out for the tip tomorrow.” The woman says.

“Right, so, it’s for the rubbish tip anyway?” Yaz asks, and the woman turns to her, sniffing and tossing her hair with an abrupt movement of her head. “So, what’s the problem with her taking it?”

“This ain’t her first time lingering on my doorstep looking for things.” The woman says, turning to look at the woman like she is the dirt beneath her shoe. “All over this street, and the next ones, so I’ve heard, she’s been rifling through bins, looking for god knows what.”

“I need the parts, it were going t’waste anyway!” The woman protests, trying to gesticulate, but the man on her right-hand side tightens his grip.

“They’ll be no need for that, sir.” Yaz says, his actions like fingernails on a chalkboard to her. There was no need for her to be restrained like she was. “You can let her go.”

The men hesitate, but Yaz simply stares long and hard at them both, and they eventually relent. The woman stumbles a little as they let her go, her head bowed, and Yaz puts a hand out to steady her, hoping it might provide a little reassurance.

“It’s alright, madam.” She says, trying to look the woman in the eyes, but her head remains lowered. Yaz speaks to her navy beanie hat instead. Lank strands of blonde hair stick out from underneath the hat, covering any of her face which might have been visible. “Can you tell me why you thought it appropriate to take the microwave without asking the homeowner’s permission?”

“I weren’t-” The woman begins, “I didn’t mean-” Her hands move wildly, spindly hands waving about with little control. They tremble a little. There is something oddly familiar about the movement.

_Yaz can see her fingers, where they are curled around the lever, are trembling._

Yaz shakes herself. No time for that now. This woman seems scared, and she won’t meet Yaz’s eyes, head still bowed.

Yaz feels a wave of something go over her that dulls the tiredness and the irritation, and instead a sense of pity and understanding falls over her. She believes this woman did not mean any harm by what she is doing, and it seems she has been outnumbered by bullies on this occasion. She shoots Nigel a look towards the other woman and men, and takes the woman, head still bowed, to the side.

“Madam, will you look at me please?” Yaz asks, hands still holding the women’s arms. She padded material is slippy and cold beneath Yaz’s hands. The woman is shivering a bit, and her clothes look bedraggled, even if they seem relatively clean.

It takes the woman in front of her a moment, her hands stuffing themselves in her pockets, before she finally raises her head and looks Yaz in the eye.

Tiredness and impatience have prevented Yaz from properly looking at the woman. She wonders that if she had she might have noticed it sooner.

Hazel eyes, dark and shadowed, stare at her from a pale and thin face. Lank blonde strands frame prominent cheekbones, the hair brushing her shoulders. Her mouth is pursed in a thin line, and she bites her bottom lip. Yaz stares. She stares and stares and stares.

Her heart hammers in her chest, while her lungs feel like they are constricted by a band made of lead. She blinks rapidly, wondering if what she sees before her is the result of too many late nights searching for clues, but she is grasping the women’s arms, and she is solid under her touch, and the face remains the same no matter how hard Yaz second guesses what she sees.

It is the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....Sorry about the cliffhanger!
> 
> A lot of exposition in this one, i know, but now it's laid down we can get on with the plot more in the coming chapters!


	3. Uncanny Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was ready to go so I thought... Why wait?  
> Thank you for the reception so far, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> TW: blood, descriptions of injury

_It takes the woman in front of her a moment, her hands stuffing themselves in her pockets, before she finally raises her head and looks Yaz in the eye._

_Tiredness and impatience have prevented Yaz from properly looking at the woman. She wonders that if she had she might have noticed it sooner._

_Hazel eyes, dark and shadowed, stare at her from a pale and thin face. Lank blonde strands frame prominent cheekbones, the hair brushing her shoulders. Her mouth is pursed in a thin line, and she bites her bottom lip. Yaz stares. She stares and stares and stares._

_Her heart hammers in her chest, while her lungs feel like they are constricted by a band made of lead. She blinks rapidly, wondering if what she sees before her is the result of too many late nights searching for clues, but she is grasping the women’s arms, and she is solid under her touch, and the face remains the same no matter how hard Yaz second guesses what she sees._

_It is the Doctor._

“Doctor…” She says, the word a whisper on her tongue.

The woman blinks, a small frown marring her brow. “What?”

Yaz wets her lips with her tongue, trying to collect herself. But she _can’t,_ because suddenly the Doctor is stood in front of her, not looking at all like herself and yet so familiar at the same time. Weeks of worrying and searching have suddenly culminated in this moment and the Doctor is looking at her as if she has never seen Yaz before…. _What is going on?_

“Doctor?” Yaz says, wondering if she has made a huge mistake, and this is just an incredibly similar likeness, but it can’t be because those are the Doctor’s eyes, and those are the freckles that the Doctor has, on her cheek, just above where dimples appear when she smiles.

“What are you-?” The woman starts to say, but they are interrupted by the other woman, who must have escaped Nigel’s jurisdiction, and is now pointing a finger at the Doctor’s chest.

“She’s been causing trouble for us all the last few weeks. We’re pretty sure she’s homeless. She _looks_ it.”

“I’m _not_ homeless!” The Doctor cries. Her face screws up on one side. “Sort of. What I mean is-”

“Ya see?” The woman says, looking between Yaz and Nigel. “Can’t get a straight answer out of her. Don’t know what day or time it is, lurks around in the middle of the night sometimes, and if it weren’t for Maureen across the road, she would have had my wind chimes the other day!”

“I didn’t-” The Doctor begins, but she seems so distressed the words will not come out. Yaz decides the step in, pushing past her confusion and the cold shock which has settled over her body, deciding that the next thing she needs to do is get this woman off the Doctor’s back and get her on her own to talk to her.

“Thank you, ma’am.” She says, addressing the ‘snooty woman’, as she has now mentally labelled her. She takes her hands away from the Doctor to address the snooty woman, and the Doctor takes that as her cue. She suddenly leaps for the ground, grabbing the microwave, and, stumbling little under the weight of her loot, she runs off.

“Hey!” The woman shouts.

Yaz does not think, she simply follows the Doctor. Her heart lurches as she does, the action feeling all too familiar and yet strikingly different at the same time. She has run after the Doctor on countless occasions, mainly to run from angry aliens, but now… now she is chasing a Doctor who did not recognise her and seemed desperate to get away from her. Yaz _does not understand._

“Let her go, Yaz!” Nigel calls after her, and once she gets to the end of the street Yaz stops, the Doctor having completely vanished. She sighs, throwing her head back for a second, allowing herself that moment to breath. She can’t go after her now; she is still on duty, and she cannot let the mask of composure she has managed to build whilst at work drop.

The Doctor had seemed scared, and she had not looked well. There is something seriously wrong, and the information Yaz has is as disparate and gaping as the information that is pinned to her corkboard. She needs to phone Ryan.

She reluctantly turns back, and tries to help Nigel as best she can at reassuring the woman, and the two men who stand silently by her, that they will look into this woman and try to stop her from continuing what has apparently become a habit.

“She’s dangerous.” The woman spits, and Yaz sighs, wishing she would just shut up.

“Seems pretty harmless to me, ma’am.” Nigel says, jotting down all the relevant details. Yaz’s eyes linger on where the Doctor had disappeared to, the gathering darkness playing tricks with her eyes as she imagines she can see a figure looming in the dark. She blinks. There is no one there. 

“But you don’t know what she might do next!” The snooty woman says. “Today the microwave, but tomorrow she could be breaking into my house. And she is homeless, I know she is, I saw her sleeping on a bench once.” Her lip curls. “Lord knows when it got to this, people running rampant and living in hovels.”

“A little bit of compassion might go a long way.” Yaz cannot help but snap, readjusting her hat. She gives the snooty woman a short nod. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

She does not wait for a reply, and lets Nigel finish up whilst she heads back to the patrol car. Once settled safely inside she chucks her hat to the floor and puts her head in her hands.

That had been the Doctor. _The Doctor._ Not at all like herself, in strange clothes and a wary look in her eye, but that was the _Doctor._

“What the _fuck?”_ She mutters under her breath.

She longs to switch the engine on and drive and drive until she finds the Doctor, but she has learnt the hard way she cannot abandon her life and run after the Doctor at a moment’s notice. The long game it is.

Still, that does not stop her from trying, when Nigel enters the car, sighing heavily.

“Should we go after her? See if we can spot her?” She asks.

Nigel pulls a face. “Shift’s almost over. I don’t think so unless you really want to?”

He looks at her, and Yaz can see the reluctance on his face, the tiredness that clings to the lines on his face. She sighs.

“Nah. That women were blowin’ it all way out of proportion.” She says, and she can see Nigel relax.

“Yeah, she were a bit anal.” He says, turning the car engine on. Slowly he pulls out into the road. “Poor woman seemed spooked.”

“Yeah,” Yaz mutters, and the thought stays with her the whole ride back to the station. The Doctor had seemed spooked, and Yaz has never seen her so scared. The world has titled on its axis in the last hour, and Yaz is barely able to keep her footing as the ground slips out from under her.

She has found the Doctor, the prize of weeks of searching and thinking and feeling. But now she has found her, she has lost her again. In more ways than one.

And Yaz is not quite sure she can keep her balance enough yet to figure out how to solve this. 

* * *

Her feet carry her to Ryan and Graham’s, and she has no conscious thought of getting there, nor of the time at which she arrives. She knows it is late, her shift ended twenty minutes ago, and she has been walking ever since. Perhaps she should have texted to warn Ryan of her arrival, but she has been too blindsided. Her head feels like it is filled with cotton wool, and all she can see is that face, pale and wary and so familiar yet so unfamiliar at the same time.

A bleary-eyed Ryan opens the door a few minutes after he has frantically knocked upon it, wincing as he makes out Yaz’s face in the darkness. When he does, his expression instantly changes, worry resting on his brows.

“Yaz. What’s ‘appened?”

“I’ve found her.” Yaz says, breathlessly. 

* * *

“Wait, so, let me get this right,” Graham says, elbows resting on his knees, hands pointing at Yaz. “She was trying to steal a _microwave?”_

Yaz nods, a little frustrated that that seems to be what Graham has focussed on out of all she has related to the two men, pacing in their front room.

Graham chuckles a little bit. “Yeah. Sounds like the Doc.”

“You’re not listening!” Yaz protests, even though of course they were and she knows Graham is just trying to lighten the mood to make her feel better. “She didn’t recognise me, Graham!”

“How did she seem, otherwise?” Ryan asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“She-” Yaz begins, but has to wet her lips with her tongue before she can continue. She needs to drink something. “She seemed scared. And wary. I’ve never seen her like that before.”

They had, of course, seen the Doctor scared before, but what Yaz had witnessed that night was completely different. It was almost as if the Doctor wasn’t herself…

Flashes of memory come to Yaz, then, and she has to sit herself down on the sofa next to Graham. She places her head in her hands.

The Doctor, screaming in agony, a strange metal contraption placed over her head. That image has stalked Yaz’s nightmare for weeks, the Doctor’s screams whistling throughout her brain like a stormy wind. 

The words that hang in her head around that memory are disparate, drifting, let loose form proper structure and sentences.

_“Think about what you are doing…”_

_“…Dangerous!”_

_“…Not the right mechanism…”_

The Doctor’s voice lost no matter how hard Yaz has tried to remember that moment.

“What if…” She says, thinking out loud. “Whatever if whatever they did to her wiped her memory…”

Ryan shrugs, nodding. “Yours ain’t the best, could be the same for her.”

“But for her _not to recognise me?”_ Yaz says, hands stretched out in front of her. “I knew the moment I woke up who she was and that she was missing, she’s stuck in here,” She points at her forehead. “But she had no idea who I was! I looked right into her eyes and…”

She can feel tears threatening to rise, a sharp pricking in the corner of her eyes and in her nose. She sniffs. Graham puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” She confesses, suddenly feeling weary. The effect of weeks of searching, culminating in a discovery not at all as victorious as Yaz had hoped it would be, taking their tool. “I don’t remember the pain of that machine, I don’t remember that happening to me. Surely I’d remember that?”

This is true. No matter how much she dreams of the Doctor screaming in pain, that same pain does not haunt her nightmares. Instead, it is a woozy feeling, as if she was being sedated, that stalks the vague memories she has before she found herself back in Sheffield, head wonky.

“I can’t say, love, but all we can do for now is be grateful, at least, that she’s here, of all places!” He chuckles a bit under his breath. “The entire universe and she’s dropped right on our doorstep.”

“Yeah, we should go look for her.” Yaz says, rising to her feet before she is even aware of doing so. It feels like she left her head still sitting on the couch. “The woman said she was homeless, she’s all alone out there and it’s cold and-”

“Yaz, mate, stop that.” Ryan says, coming forward and placing his hands on her arms, the same action she had made to reassure the Doctor. That felt like ages ago, now. “We’re not going to be of any help to her if she don’t remember us and we scare her in the middle of the night. We can go out looking for her tomorrow, if you want, but I don’t think 1 am is the time to seek her out.”

“She’ll be alright, love.” Graham says.

Yaz sighs, scratching at her forehead. She is so tired, but guilt gnaws at her stomach like a parasite. The Doctor needs her. She needs all of them.

“Yaz, she’s survived for who knows how long already, she’ll okay for one more night. We can look for her tomorrow.” Ryan says, raising one shoulder in a shrug. He speaks more to himself than to her when he says, “She’s here, and now that she is, we can finally help her.” 

* * *

Yaz’s feet ache in her converses, and she sighs, tipping her head back into the waning sun. It must be getting on for the evening at this point, and her, Ryan, and Graham, have seen hide nor hair of the Doctor. They have searched high and low, discovering parts of Sheffield they had never been to, but still no Doctor.

Yaz’s heart tells her to keep going, but her head, and her feet, tell her giving up now might be for the best, lest she lose herself to frustration that sizzles just beneath her skin. She turns her head to look at Ryan next to her, a little out of breath, hands on his knees. He looks to her once he notices her looking at him.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Ryan asks her, and Yaz bites her lips, nodding, almost ashamed, of her agreement. Ryan straightens, giving her a quick tap on her shoulder. “We really tried. For six hours.”

“I know.” Yaz says, and her gaze trails to their view, a beautiful outlook over the city centre from a viewpoint in one of the cities many parks. “Just feels like she wouldn’t have given up.”

“Yeah, but she’d be equally angry if she knew we’d all worn ourselves out trying to look for her.” Ryan counters, and a small smile graces his lips. “Also, she can go for days without sleepin’, the weirdo.”

Yaz laughs. “Yeah. I know.”

“Pizza back at my place?” Ryan suggests, and Graham, who has finally joined them at the viewpoint, puffing and groaning, cries out in relief as he hears Ryan pose his question.

“Ryan, son, your grandmother raised you right!” He exclaims, leaning on the barrier. Ryan rolls his eyes and then turns to Yaz. “Come on, Yaz, let’s call it a day.”

Yaz hesitates for just one moment. “Alright.” She says, pushing herself away from the viewpoint and trudging back across the grass to the park path. She is not sure how much she will be able to enjoy the pizza knowing the Doctor is not there, enjoying it with them, but rather outside in the Sheffield night. Alone.

“Oi, you two, give me a minute!” Graham calls, still out of breath. 

* * *

It is two days later, and Yaz feels as if every muscle in her body is tensed and has remained that way since they gave up their search two days ago. She has not had a chance to look since, being too busy with work, which is her own fault, and she wishes hindsight were a thing.

She has felt especially aggravated today, bound as she is to her desk by the rota’s demands. She could have subtly looked out for the Doctor as she went about her duties were she on patrol, but she has spent today staring either at the her computer screen or across the office as her co-worker banter and babble, feeling thoroughly isolated.

Her boss enters the room, then, looking miffed as always. “Bloody woman’s got blood all over the wall down there. And on the bloody carpet.” He sighs, eyes screwing up. “Not the _bloody_ carpet, well it is a blood carpet now, I ‘spose.”

“What’s gone on boss?” Nigel asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Woman’s come in reporting she’s been assaulted.” He replies. “Ann’s paging the medic but she’s in a state. Fletcher’s doing her best but the lass’s really spooked.”

Something in Yaz raises its head, like a bloodhound to sniff the air. “What’s she look like, boss?”

Her boss turns to her, a little confused by her words. He answers her anyway, his reply short. “Blond, average height, very pale.”

“I’ll go.” Yaz says, her heart rate picking up and her legs bringing her to stand before she can even think about it. “It sounds like the same woman Nige and I got called to the other night. She were wary then and if she’s wary now I sorta managed to reassure her a bit. I can help either way, even if it ain’t her?”

_Please be her, please, please, please._

Her boss looks at her for a long moment before nodding his head. “Alright, Khan, go. Stay with her whilst the medic sees to her if you can get her to calm down.”

Yaz nods, shooting him a quick smile before she is darting from the room, heart in her mouth. 

* * *

When she enters the main foyer, she balks a bit at the site of fresh red blood splattered down one of the dull white walls. Ann, who mans the reception desk, shoots her a withering look. “Poor lass, couldn’t stop it from… well, splatterin’.”

“Where is she?” Yaz says, a little breathless.

Ann points to a small room that sits off the foyer, used mainly for brief talks that need privacy. The blinds are down, and Yaz knocks before entering with more than a little apprehension.

Her stomach flips when she sets sight on the woman stood in the corner of the room, as far away from Fletcher, an older woman who is normally good at putting people at ease, as possible. Her face is even paler than last Yaz saw her, and Yaz gasps as she takes sight of the bruising around her right eye, and the blood which drips from her nose.

“Ah, Khan, any progress on the medic?” Fletcher, trying not to show her relief at another person coming to her aide, asks.

“They’re on their way.” Yaz says, without really knowing what she is saying. Her eyes do not leave the Doctor. “I thought I’d pop up ‘cause we’ve met before, and I thought you might want a friendly face?” She speaks the last to the Doctor, who looks at her with wide eyes, a hint of recognition lying behind the wariness.

“Oh, ‘ave you?” Fletcher asks, looking between the two of them, eyebrows raised. She raises her eyebrow ever so slightly at Yaz, who gives her a very small nod back. She can handle this. “Very well, I’ll look out for the medics for you.” She shoots both Yaz and the Doctor a smile and leaves the room, the door clicking shut gently behind her.

There is a moment of silence. Yaz swallows, trying to calm her frantically beating heart.

The moment of truth.

“Doctor-”

“I don’t want a doctor.” The Doctor interrupts her, sinking back against the wall.

Yaz frowns. “No I-” She begins, but something in her gut tells her this is not going to go how she had hoped, and the tactic she had been hoping might work will reward her with nothing but frustration and an aching sadness. She lets out a slow breath, trying to calm herself, appear calm and professional. “I know you might not want one, but I think you might need one.”

The Doctor eyes her, gaze skittish and frantic, breathing heavy. There is not a hint of recognition in her gaze. Yaz offers her a small smile.

“You remember me, yeah? From the other night? With the microwave?” She prompts. The Doctor eyes her still, and Yaz can sense her apprehension. “Oh, it’s alright.” She reassures her. “I’m not gonna press charges on you for that. That women were way out of wack.” She tries to joke, and the Doctor offers a small, fleeting smile, shoulder relaxing slightly before she tenses in pain.

“Here-” Yaz says, guiding her into one of the soft fabric chairs that line the room. The Doctor willingly sinks into it, seeming a bit more relaxed in Yaz’s presence, which fills Yaz with more confidence. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced properly. I’m PC Yasmin Khan, but ya can call me Yaz, if you’d like.”

The Doctor looks down at her shoes, at her grotty white trainers. “Yaz…” She mutters. She gathers herself and shoots Yaz a pained smile, not meeting her eyes. “Jennifer. Smith.”

 _“Jennifer.”_ Yaz says, and nods. Jennifer. Right. She struggles for something to say, trying to keep up her calm and friendly police officer manner, even though her insides are tearing themselves apart. “I like your hat.” She says, pointing to the navy beanie which had graced the Doc- _Jennifer’s_ head when she had seen her a few days ago. It is still covering limp strands of blonde hair, a bit longer than the Doctor had ever worn it.

“Oh. Thanks.” Jennifer says, and she reaches up to adjust the hat, but when she does she cries out, hand withdrawing back to her side to cradle her ribs. Yaz winces.

“Do your ribs hurt?” She asks, and Jennifer nods. Yaz purses her lips. “D’ya mind tellin’ me what happened?”

Jennifer wets her lips with her tongue, struggling to find the words. Her shoulders sag. “I were minding my own business, and the men from the other night, they started bothering me, and wouldn’t let me get away. Things got worse and worse and…” She points to her face, wincing at the movement.

Yaz frowns, leaning in closer. “Hang on, they threatened you and then physically assaulted you?”

Jennifer nods. “Yeah. Sounds ‘bout right.” She looks guilty then, a little bashful. “I may have punched back a couple of times.”

Yaz nods and tries to keep the smile off her face. It would be wholly unprofessional of her to say, ‘nice one’, no matter how much she wants to.

“You mind if I take your pulse? The medics are on their way, but if you’re not comfortable with them then I can always help out? I’ve got the trainin’.” Yaz smiles, and tries to emit an aura of ease, even though she most desperately wants to take the Doctor’s wrist and confirm to herself the double-pulse which will thrum beneath the skin. She needs something to reassure her, as the Doctor certainly isn’t. Or, should she say, ‘Jennifer’, as the Doctor seems to think she is called.

“Okay.” Jennifer says, and she holds out her wrist to Yaz. A small trail of blood runs from her nose, and she licks it away when it reaches her top lip.

Yaz very carefully takes the wrist in her hand, pushing back the puffer jacket and the layers of clothing underneath. She is wearing a lot of layers, but when Yaz touches the arm underneath, it is cold. The rude woman’s words from a few days ago have been playing on her mind ever since- ‘ _we’re pretty sure she’s homeless’-_ and Yaz starts to wonder whether she actually might be. Where would the Doctor go if she did not remember she was herself, if she did not remember her ‘fam’? What would she have out there?

Yaz presses gently and expects to feel the double-pulse under her fingers, but she can only feel one. She presses down slightly harder, a frown marring her brow. No.

There is only one pulse. One fast and pounding pulse.

“Yaz?” Jennifer asks quietly, and Yaz jumps, letting go of her wrist a little too fast.

“It’s fine.” Yaz coughs, straightening, feeling her cheeks burn. “Bit fast, but that’s to be expected when you’ve had a scare.”

Jennifer hums, and then falls quiet again. It is strange. The Doctor is normally always talkative, or at least when she is not her silence pervades the room like a solid mass. But this… Jennifer seems to be trying to hide, and is starting to occur to Yaz that this woman _really_ isn’t the Doctor at all…

Her thoughts and their silence are broken by a knock on the door, and then Fletcher returns with a medic, and Yaz allows herself to take a step back as they attend to Jennifer, brain in overdrive, hands itching to text Ryan.

As she watches the woman in front of her, both familiar and unfamiliar, she decides there and then she will do everything to try and befriend her and stick by her side. She needs to do some more digging, see if Jennifer remembers anything about herself, and then work with what’s she’s got from there. Perhaps if she jogs her memory, she might remember Yaz? Graham? Ryan? She cannot think further than that, cannot yet wonder about whether this could be it- the Doctor, mind erased, thinking she is ‘Jennifer’, with _one pulse,_ and Yaz unable to help her. She steels herself. Sheffield is known for its steel, and Sheffield is in Yaz’s blood. Like molten metal, her blood runs with a fiery desperation to protect and help her friend. She ignores the lingering panic, and dread which sit under her skin like an itch, that questions unanswered might remain still unanswered for some time to come.

Jennifer lets out a cry and winces as the medic presses her fingers gently to her head, searching for injuries. The woman draws back as Jennifer gently presses her temples, head bowed. Her beanie lies discarded on the chair next to her. Yaz instinctively steps forward.

“Sorry.” Jennifer mutters, finger massaging her temples. “Bit sore there.”

“Will you let me have a look?” The medic asks patiently. Jennifer straightens, hands dropping to her lap, fingers twisting together. She looks unsure. She looks very briefly at Yaz, and Yaz makes the decision to drop into the chair next to her again. She can see Jennifer is shivering.

“Fine.” Jennifer eventually says, letting out a long breath. The medic smiles kindly and steps forward, gloved hands very carefully coming to her forehead, pushing her hair back to examine her temples.

Yaz’s breath catches in her throat.

From the side she is on, Yaz can see Jennifer has a red, roundish mark at her temple. It looks almost like a burn, the skin shiny and red. No wonder Jennifer had winced when the medic touched it.

Her face is scrunched up now, as the Medic very gently inspects the wound. She moves to the other side, and Yaz knows there will be an identical mark on the other temple. She knows exactly what they are.

_A strange metal contraption on the Doctor’s head, prongs at her temples, and screams drawn out as if echoing throughout the entire universe._

Yaz shudders, and lets out a long breath. Her molten blood is reaching boiling point, and she clenches her hands into fists. She is sure whatever had captured them has done this, whatever _this_ is. Those marks and their harsh abrasiveness speak too much of what is wrong here. Of what has been made wrong by the fact of their existence on the Doctor’s skin. Of what they, and the aliens, have done to her. Yaz thanks her lucky stars that the Doctor is _here,_ and not lost somewhere else where Yaz might not have found her. Small mercies.

“Those look nasty, how did you get those?” The medic asks Jennifer.

“I…” Jennifer blinks rapidly. “What?”

“How did you get the marks?” The medic repeats patiently, but Yaz can see the slight worry on her face.

“I don’t remember…” Jennifer says, eyes far away and glazed. Yaz leans forward slightly, perplexed as she watches the woman completely clock out. Yaz and the medic share a look, and Yaz very gently places her hand on Jennifer’s arm, and gives her a small shake. Jennifer jumps, coming back to herself, blinking rapidly. She looks between the two women. “What?”

The medic hesitates for a minute, but eventually she lets out a long breath and steps back, pulling her gloves off and picking up a clipboard and pen. “Luckily, you’ve got no broken bones, although the bruises on your face and ribs will be painful for a few days. Would you like some pain relief?”

Jennifer shakes her head, fingers picking up her beanie hat and gently placing it upon her head, covering her temples.

“The burns at your temples don’t look infected, just quite deep. They’re a few weeks old so there’s not much you can do for the scarring now. Just… keep an eye on them.” She eyes Jennifer, who appears to not be paying much attention, looking down at her lap. The medic looks to Yaz. “Might be a good idea if you give her something to eat and drink whilst you take her statement.”

Yaz nods, and the medic gives her a long look which Yaz returns, hoping to emit her confidence that she can take care of Jennifer, not matter how badly she wants to run to the bathroom and both punch the wall and cry her eyes out. _Not now Khan, keep your strength._

“You fancy a cheese sandwich?” Yaz offers. “The canteen ain’t the best but food’s food, right? We can take a statement if you want to whilst ya eat?”

Jennifer sucks in a deep breath, and she lets it out, her body curling in on itself as she does. She nods, but she does not meet Yaz’s gaze. Her trust feels delicate, like bone china, and Yaz stands, offering her hand out very carefully so as not to break the porcelain into pieces. Jennifer very carefully takes it, and Yaz allows herself to relax ever so slightly.

She can do this. 

* * *

Yaz tries to watch Jennifer out of the corner of her eye as she drives the woman ‘home’, wherever home is for Jennifer. She has been just as elusive as the Doctor is, and it is a similarity both reassuring and frustrating.

She rests her head against the car window, eyes closed, and Yaz wonders if she is asleep. She would not blame her, after having to spend her afternoon recounting her assault. She had sat, hunched over on herself, nibbling at her cheese sandwich, whilst Yaz had done her best to note down her statement without punching at her keyboard so hard as to jam the keys.

Yaz hates to disturb her, but she has no idea where she is dropping Jennifer off other than a vague direction given as Jennifer had slipped into the car seat. What does reassure Yaz is they are close to both her flat and Ryan and Graham’s; at least Jennifer isn’t living on the opposite side of Sheffield. She clears her throat.

“Hey, Jennifer?” She says, voice a tone louder than usual. “Is this about the right place?”

“Hmm?” Jennifer says, eyes opening and head raising. She looks blearily around, the bruise around her eye casting further shadows onto her face in the half-light of twilight. “Oh, ‘bout here’s fine.”

Yaz pulls the car up to the curve and switches off the engine. A burst of adrenaline runs through her as Jennifer unbuckles her seat belt and goes to open the car door. Yaz blurts out, “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Jennifer stills, and a thin hand comes up to adjust her hat. “Yeah.” She says quietly and wearily.

Yaz hesitates, caught between the desperate need to do something to keep in touch with the woman in front of her whilst being aware that anything too keen will be taken with suspicion. Finally, she settles for reaching into her vest and pulling out a small notebook and pen. “Take my phone number, and if you need anything, at any time, don’t hesitate to call me, yeah?”

Jennifer takes the piece of paper from Yaz when she hands it to her. Their fingers brush slightly and a shiver travels down Yaz’s spine. Jennifer’s cheeks tinge pink. “Thank you.”

Yaz smiles. “You’re more than welcome. And you can always find me at the station.”

Her heart longs to follow Jennifer out of the car as the opens the door and stiffly climbs out, hand cradling her torso. Yaz wishes she had accepted some pain medication.

“Goodbye, Yaz.” Jennifer says, and then the door is shut, and she is walking away into the gathering night. Yaz watches her go, interest spiked as she sees her walk through the entrance of a nearby park before her figure is lost to the twilight. Jennifer had called her ‘Yaz’, which was a good sign, it had to be. But otherwise… Yaz tries desperately to fight the stinging behind her eyes but gives in and allows herself to let a few tears fall, head resting against the steering wheel. Whatever has happened to the Doctor makes her curl her hands in fists as she cries into the wheel, anger and sadness competing for supremacy. She needs to phone Ryan. She needs to see him and Graham and put the weight of all she has seen today and others who will understand how it feels. How it feels to see your once brilliant friend apparently wiped of her memories, wide eyed and apprehensive.

Before she can dwell on those thoughts any longer, she straightens, sniffing as she fumbles for her phone. Her fingers work quickly to bring up Ryan’s number and press ‘call’.

“ _Yaz, mate, you alright?”_ Ryan asks when he picks up. Yaz can hear the muffled sound of Graham’s music crooning behind him.

“Jen-the Doctor, I saw her again today…” Yaz wets her lips with her tongue. “Ryan, she only had one pulse.”

 _“What?_ ” Yaz can hear Graham asking Ryan what’s wrong at the other end of the line.

“Something’s wrong, Ryan.” She confesses, her voice breaking. “Something’s really, really wrong.”

Yaz straightens, raising her head from the steering wheel and taking a deep breath, sniffing. She is going to stick to her self-appointed duty to protect and befriend Jennifer, and see if there is any way she can delve into that mind and find her friend, waiting for her there, not lost, just…. hidden. Whatever is going on here, there must be a way to get the Doctor back.

There must be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me coming up with the name Jennifer for 'human' Doctor: groundbreaking, totally unique, completely not ever been done before 😉
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	4. The Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive response so far! Hope you enjoy this one!

Yaz once again makes her way directly after work to Ryan and Graham’s, and barely pauses to take breath as she is ushered in, steaming mug of tea shoved in hand, and recounts to them her second meeting with ‘Jennifer’. Both men listen with drawn in brows, and in the heavy silence which soon follows Yaz’s recounting, Ryan stands to pace whilst Graham sits stoically, eyes fixed on the far distance, as they think through what she has just told them. Yaz settles back on the sofa, suddenly exhausted, weary of mind and body.

“Two scorch marks on the temples, you said?” Graham asks Yaz.

Yaz nods. “Yeah, and I… I had this memory, this flash of something I remembere.” She admits, fingers restlessly tapping against the side of her mug, eyes faraway as she remembers…

_A strange metal contraption on the Doctor’s head, prongs at her temples, and screams drawn out as if echoing throughout the entire universe._

“Yaz?” Graham asks her, placing a warm hand on her knee. Yaz straightens, letting out a long breath.

“…. Whoever it was, they put something on her, something that’s caused the burns.”

Graham nods, and then leans back, thinking. He shuffles a bit to sit straighter on the sofa, and Yaz can see he is evaluating whether to say what he was thinking, and how to say it, and she prompts him to speak with a questioning ‘Graham?’. He might as well throw whatever theory he has into the room.

“Only, the first that comes to mind, Yaz, is that medical thing, the one you see in the movies… umm… Electric shock treatment! That’s the one.” He says.

Ryan frowns. “M’not sure they call it that anymore, grandad.”

“M’not saying that’s what it is, but…. Seems similar, right? With the mind wipe and all?” Graham replies, shrugging.

“That doesn’t account for why she only has one pulse, though.” Yaz counters. What Graham is suggesting is making more sense than she wants to admit, but she can tell, at the same time, that what had been done to the Doctor was something worse, much worse, than what human technology and experimentation could do.

“Ya remember that time with the Judoon? In Gloucester.” Ryan says, pausing his pacing and turning to them. Both Yaz and Graham nod. “You remember the Doctor said that Ruth woman was her, and yet she was only human…”

Yaz nodded in understanding. Recollection bursts through the clouds of uncertainty in her mind like a sun, albeit a sun which had no idea onto what it was shining.

“Well, maybe it’s one of her strange Timelord tricks?” Ryan suggests, and Yaz has to bite her tongue at his wording, the almost distaste which had marred his tone; the implication of what he is alluding to, of the almost wary nature they had taken during those long months beginning with the Master, when parts of the Doctor were exposed, leaking like oil, dirty and dark and staining their impression of her, making them question her vivacious energy, her starlit eyes. Black holes converging on constellation. “You know like she did with Shelley, seeing into his mind and forcing it to his death? Who knows what else she could do? Maybe that’s what Ruth was… another Timelord trick, to protect herself…”

Yaz bites her lip. Possibly. Perhaps that is what ‘Jennifer’ now is: another unanswered question, another shadow to lurk now, not only in the corners of the Doctor’s eyes, but in her body, a spectre of who she was, seemingly without memory of them, walls up and protecting them even further from the truth of what happened by the grace of her ignorance. Protecting them from what, though? If only Yaz could remember. She could allow frustration to seep in, to poison her determination to befriend Jennifer and divine some more context that way, if this is what Ryan is suggesting, if the Doctor did this to herself, and has left them seemingly without answer. But…

“It sounded like they were hurting her.” Yaz replies. “Whoever it was that captured us, or…. I can hear her screams, maybe it was them that did this.”

“That might explain why she’s got those nasty burns, then, if it were some third party.” Graham adds, and Ryan rubs a hand across his jaw, looking displeased, resuming his pacing.

Another unanswered question. Possible strands leading nowhere, become knotted in their lack of information. Yaz wants to kick her legs against the floor and pound her fists against the sofa in frustration; they are going around in circles!

“Look, we have no idea what has happened to her, and we’re not going to unless we get closer to her. Then she might be able to provide us with some insights.” She says, and Graham nods, capitulating all she says as he sips at his tea and Ryan scratches the back of his head before shrugging.

“Well, what do you think the best course of action is?”

There is something in his eyes, the way he looks at Yaz, expectant. She had, of course, been the one with the Doctor when whatever has happened… happened, and she has also been the one to run into ‘Jennifer’ more than once. It makes sense, certainly, and Yaz would not deny that she is rather desperate to see the woman- Doctor, ‘Jennifer’, whoever- again. Like a puzzle piece, so close you could reach out and touch, and maybe this time she could help with kind and soothing words and demonstrations of caring; it might be enough this time, for ‘Jennifer’ is different from the Doctor.

The Doctor was hiding before and in a way, she is hiding once again, and although the reason still remains a mystery, in both cases, Yaz reckons that perhaps this time she might be able to use how she feels for the Doctor to actually make a difference, to get through to her, as confused and as vulnerable she had seemed. ‘Jennifer’ had been wearing a mask of wariness borne from distrust, it had appeared, but not one which intended to fool the perceiver into thinking she was fine, rather one that exposed her emotions; it is this difference which encourages Yaz, which makes determination sink into her bones until she feels as if she is made of the very steel Sheffield is famous for. ‘Jennifer’ had not tried to convince Yaz she was alright, she had been wary because Yaz was a stranger, and therefore if Yaz can befriend her, come closer, she might be able to dig into what is going on inside the woman’s head with more success than she had had with the Doctor.

Her feelings for the Doctor, which had sat under her skin for months, simmering, burning her inside out, might now be enough to help. She hopes so, and the hope gives her relief, gives her courage.

“Tomorrow.” She suddenly says, and Graham jumps a little, tea sloshing onto his hands. He hisses through his teeth, shaking the liquid off. “I dropped her off at Norfolk Heritage Park, I’ll go there tomorrow, see if she is still around. Besides, I gave her my phone number and told her she could always find me at the station.”

“You think she’s going to do that?” Ryan questions, and if Yaz were not so spurred on his cynicism might grate her.

“She might not, but it’s a start. She needs our help.” Yaz hesitates only briefly before she speaks her next words. “I know there’s a lot of unanswered questions around the Doctor, and even more now, but there is no denying that she’s vulnerable. We have to help her. We’re the only ones who can.”

Ryan looks slightly chagrined, a hint of embarrassment in the way he averts his eyes; she has sympathy for him, of course she does, but Yaz knows that they need to put aside their lingering doubts and the irritation that soon follows over unanswered questions in order to deal with the matter at hand first. They are still entitled to how they feel, certainly Yaz, picturing the Doctor just before the ‘incident’ in her mind, finds anger and concern mixing like a strange concoction in her mind, but those emotions will get them nowhere if they place them on the Doctor as she is now, as ‘Jennifer’.

“And once we’ve befriended her and earned her trust…” Yaz lets out a long breath, shoulder sagging. “Well, then we’ll figure out how to help her.” 

* * *

Later that night, as Yaz prepares to go to bed, she takes a moment after she has shucked her dressing gown on over her shoulders, to sit down at her desk, investigation board above her, looming over her with pressure as if to say ‘solve me!’, and brings up one of the discords she is following.

As well as the investigation board, Yaz has been making full use of the internet’s usefulness in keeping tabs on different extra-terrestrial activity, _literally_ keeping tabs, and she clicks through each one, refreshing the pages to see if there are any more alerts. Some of what is reported is dodgy to say the least, and some of it has made her laugh out loud, in the past; having seen the universe with the Doctor, some theories or ideas are hilarious in their inaccuracy.

She supposes there is not much point in lingering around on the discords and websites for too long a while, the Doctor is, she knows now, earthbound, but her mouse lingers over the search bar, fingers hovering above keys, and Yaz hesitates for only a moment more before typing in ‘blue box’ and, when that bears no results, ‘Tardis’. It would help them immensely if they could track down the police box, the Doctor’s ship might be able to tell them what has happened to her, but no matter how many websites Yaz searches for sightings of a blue box both on Earth and in space, nothing fruitful presents itself. There are only reports of increased solar winds, a fair few meteors bobbing about in space, nothing to get excited about, no clues…

After skimming recently uploaded photos on Google Maps for any hint of the Tardis’s whereabouts, Yaz surrenders with tired eyes to defeat and drags herself off to bed, no victory in sight on that account.

With Jennifer, she hopes, she will be more successful. 

* * *

Yaz strides out with resolution in her mind and steel in her heart. She is up much earlier than she would have been considering she has a night shift later on, but the purpose of her early rising is clear-cut and so obvious to Yaz that the heavy exhaustion she knows she will feel later will be worth it.

The closest supermarket comes into view and Yaz breathes in the early morning air, the breaths leaving her lungs in a cloud of condensation. It is steadily getting colder as winter approaches, and leaves fall from the trees around her as she crosses the road, approaching the entrance to the supermarket and sweeping a basket up in her arms.

She makes her way through the aisles of the supermarket, drowning out the abrasive harsh light and the sound of the intercom crackling as a voice promotes an offer on potatoes. Yaz sighs. She has seen the far corners of the universe, and here she is debating whether two-for-one on potatoes is a good offer or not. Life is strange. And it is only getting stranger.

She lingers for a while over the ready meals, wondering what is suitable for her to take with her and what is not. From the looks of her, Jennifer is in need of a proper meal, but it would be too forward of Yaz, she thinks, to come looking for her after they had only met twice with a ready to cook lasagne in her hands. She does not want Jennifer to think Yaz sees her as incompetent.

Yaz decides, instead, on something lighter, more the gesture of friendship than the concern of a person in a position of authority over another person’s welfare. She heads to the biscuit aisle, and scoops up two packets of custard creams. Her basket looks paltry, so she heads to the sweets section and grabs some strawberry laces as well.

Feeling pleased, Yaz heads towards the tills, head held high.

She can only hope Jennifer is where she is hoping Yaz will find her. 

* * *

Leaves crunch under her boots as Yaz ventures into the park, stopping for a moment to survey the scene. The early hour means there are not yet many people occupying the pathways and the large patch of grass which stretches before her, only a few joggers and dog walkers. She sees no blonde head of hair, no navy beanie. Yaz’s eyes catch sight of the large cluster of trees which stretches the left side of the park. She heads in that direction.

Yaz has been to Norfolk Heritage Park many times before, the city holding a fayre in the summer which her family has attended on many an occasion in these grounds, but as she approaches the trees and walks into the thicket, she is walking on unfamiliar territory.

The light gets dimmer under the leafy canopy, and Yaz can hear the damp squelch of moisture under her boots as she navigates her way through the woodland. She feels alone here. It is so quiet, strangely quiet; it the lack of traffic noise, she realises.

Yaz is not sure what she is expecting to find by going traipsing through a lonely woodland, but she supposes that is the Doctor’s effect on her: don’t look for the obvious. Stray from the path and you never know what you might find.

She walks for an indeterminate amount of time, loosing herself in her head and she searches for any signs of life, her eyes taking in the woodland absentmindedly. She is suddenly brought up short when something different catches her eyes through the trees.

It is a small cabin. Well, more a shed than a cabin, but Yaz is feeling generous. It is small but substantial, a wooden structure with a roof which slopes slightly too far to the right, testament to the forgotten nature which clings to it. Yaz supposes it was used by park rangers in times past, but it has since been forgotten and taken over for other uses. Yaz hopes one of those who takes advantage of it might be the Doctor. _Jennifer._

She approaches cautiously, and only then to peer in through dirty windows to the room within. She can make out a sleeping bag, a pile of books, and what looks to be bits of metal and parts of machines, but that is all in the darkened room. She cannot see a person.

“Signs someone lives here, though…” She mutters to herself, “Could be her…”

“Yasmin?” A voice calls, and Yaz turns.

Jennifer is stood there, in the same clothes as the day previous, beanie hat on head. She holds some metal wire in her hands, and she is staring at Yaz with that wary expression once again, tinged with a bit of shock.

“Oh!” Yaz says, feeling shocked herself. She had not thought it would be _this_ easy to find her. Straying from the path worked, then. “Hi, Jennifer! I was just…” Yaz fumbles for the words, Jennifer’s gaze not leaving her face for a moment. Yaz shrugs. “Well, I were looking for you, actually.”

“Oh,” Jennifer says, and she does not sound displeased, just… perplexed. “Well, you managed that pretty well. No one ever comes here.”

She steps forward, moving past Yaz and onto the small porch of the cabin, fumbling in her pocket. She removes a small key, which she slots into a padlock, unlocking it with a turn of the key. The door to the cabin swings open, and Jennifer throws the metal wire she was holding into the darkened room.

“I brought some biscuits, if you’d like some?” Yaz says, for lack of knowing what else to say, and holds up the plastic carrier bag she is carrying.

Jennifer eyes her once again. “How did you find me?”

Yaz thinks for a moment. “Honestly? I took a lucky guess after dropping you here last night. That bruise looks nasty.”

Yaz points to the bruise on Jennifer’s face, which is blooming in a deep purple. Jennifer brings a finger up to touch it lightly. If that were the Doctor, and her Timelord biology, that bruise would be much farther along in the healing process by now, Yaz knows.

“It’s fine…” She mutters. She hesitates, looks Yaz up and down, before saying. “You’re not gonna…”

“Not gonna what?” Yaz asks.

Jennifer gestures to the cabin. “Well, I shouldn’t really be ‘ere, but…”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.” Yaz reassures her. “I’m not here as an officer, I’m here as a… friend. M’not gonna rat you out.”

Jennifer’s face twitches then, a strange expression crossing her face. “As a… friend?”

“Yeah,” Yaz says, trying to be as causal as possible. “If that’s alright?”

Jennifer blinks, hand rubbing over the wooden doorframe. If she is not careful, she could get a splinter, but she doesn’t seem to notice, thinking hard, a small crease in her forehead. She looks as if she wants to say something, ask something, but she keeps holding herself back, mouth opening and then closing. Finally, she shoots Yaz a wan smile. “Yeah, s’fine.”

She sits down on the small porch, wincing at the movement. Yaz sits down next to her when Jennifer indicates to the empty space next to her. Yaz rustles around in the shopping bag she carries, and pulls out a packet of custard creams. “I brought biscuits!”

“Oh!” Jennifer says, eyes lighting up. “Those are my favourites.”

“Yeah I-” Yaz catches herself. ‘ _Yeah, I know’,_ she had been about to say. “I made a good guess then.”

Soon both women are munching on the snack, and the taste brings back for Yaz memories of sitting on the edge of the Tardis doorway, staring out into the stars. There are no stars here, and when she swings her legs, they hit the porch edge.

“So, how long you been living ‘ere?” She asks around a mouthful of custard creams, gesturing at the cabin.

“Few weeks.” Jennifer mumbles around her own biscuit. _Few weeks,_ that adds up to when Yaz had also been dropped back in Sheffield.

“Were you somewhere before?” Yaz asks, trying to keep her tone as light and conversational as possible. “I’d love to move somewhere else, have a place of my own. I live with my parents in Park Hill, y’know it?”

Jennifer shakes her head, frowning as looks out over the woodland in front of them. “I don’t… I mean, yeah, I was in another part of town, but it wasn’t as nice as this. Less green more… steely.”

Yaz smiles. “Yeah, that sounds like Sheffield.”

“Colder, too. At least the trees offer a bit of shelter. And the cabin of course.” Jennifer replies, shoving the rest of her custard cream in her mouth.

Yaz wets her lips with her tongue, choosing her next words carefully. “Were you on the streets, before?”

Jennifer sucks in a short breath, still staring into the distance. “Yeah, must’ve been…”

Yaz lets silence fall between them for a moment, pondering over the uncertainty in Jennifer’s tone. Was she lying? Graham’s words from the night before crossed Yaz’s mind: ‘ _the mind wipe and all?’_

“Did ya really come here, this early in the morning, to make sure I was alright?” Jennifer asks, and her eyes latch onto Yaz’s, the first time they properly have. Her gaze is scrutinising, and Yaz can tell she is deciding whether or not to trust her. Yaz keeps her own gaze level, despite the furious pounding of her heart. She nods.

“Why?” Jennifer asks, the word barely more than a whisper.

Yaz shrugs and smiles. “You looked like you might need a friend.” She lets the words hang there, staring into those eyes, so familiar and yet the soul behind them is different. “Do ya?”

_Say yes, please say yes, I don’t think I can help you if you don’t say yes._

Yaz sees something change in Jennifer’s eyes, then, something that looks like relief. She leans forward slightly, but catches herself, bowing her head so her hair shrouds her face. “I’d like that.”

Yaz smiles, a smile so broad her cheeks ache. A victorious thrill shoots through her like lightning. Step one. “My friends call me Yaz.”

Jennifer nods. “Yaz.” She says, as if testing the word out on her tongue.

Yaz holds out the packet of custard creams. “Another?”

Jennifer takes one, smiling at Yaz.

Yaz feels something heavy lift off her chest. 

* * *

They must sit on the porch for well over an hour, not saying much at all but slowly making their way through the packet of custard creams. Yaz is starting to notice things about Jennifer, things that explain why she lives in an abandoned cabin in the woods. It is like walking through uncanny valley, for she looks, obviously, just as the Doctor had, barring the change of clothes, but there is something so intrinsically different about her… as if she has been rewritten. It is much more than the memory loss inflicted on her, Yaz just _knows_ it is. She can feel it, like knowing that winter is coming from the sharp chill in the air. It is like the layers that made the Doctor are gone, and a new person has grown in her place. Although…. Spring has not quite come, and Jennifer, it seems has yet to blossom into a fully-formed person.

 _’Dangerous…_!’ The Doctor had cried. ‘ _This isn’t the way!_ ’

Yaz wonders, as she watches Jennifer fiddle with her fingers, if in trying to force the cogs into the machine in the wrong order, whoever has done this has broken the entire mechanism.

She lets out a slow breath, turning her head away from Jennifer for a moment so that the other woman does not see the tears in her eyes. She tries to tell herself not to be so pessimistic, to not jump to the conclusion that the Doctor is lost, but… it is hard, and the custard creams sit heavy in her stomach and the canopy over her head suddenly feels oppressive.

“Yaz?” 

Yaz turns to see Jennifer looking at her, eyes flicking all over her face.

“Sorry,” She says, sniffing. “Still tired from yesterday. And I’ve got a night shift tonight.”

“You’re so brave doin’ that.” Jennifer remarks, a hand subconsciously coming up to lightly rub at the scorch mark that lies hidden behind hair and hat. “Don’t think I could do that.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Yaz says, allowing herself to be wistful for a moment. The Doctor is the bravest person she has ever met. “You can run quite well, you pelted right off with that microwave.”

Jennifer lets out a light laugh, and it is the most relaxed Yaz has seen her. A smile of her own creeps onto her face.

“As soon as I turned the corner, I tripped over me own feet.” Jennifer admits, and Yaz lets out a laugh of her own, covering her mouth soon after and muttering an apology through a set of giggles. Jennifer is smiling, too.

“What were you doin’ with a microwave?” Yaz asks, genuinely curious.

“Oh, I errr...” Jennifer says, pushing a strand of her behind her ear. “I like tinkering with things. Seems like the only thing I can do.”

Yaz perks up at that. Tinkering was something the Doctor was doing almost constantly. “Oh?” She asks with what she hopes is casual interest.

“It’s like….” Jennifer hesitates, her gaze taking on a faraway look, a small indent in her brow. “It’s like my head is so… muddled, like a bundle of wires all knotted, some ends cut short before I can fully understand…” A thin hand stretches out before dropping back to her side. “But when I’m working with actual wires and mechanisms and machines… they make sense to me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Yaz nods, a little lost for words. “Yeah, it does.”

Jennifer lets out a sardonic laugh. “Don’t really know why I bother, I mean I’m not doing it for anythin’… I just….” She trails off.

“You’re doing it for yourself, though, right?” Yaz prompts her.

Jennifer shrugs and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know….” She collects herself, straightening with a slight wince as it pulls on her bruised ribs. “Oh god, I’ve completely weirded you out, haven’t I? Said too much, the words left my mouth before I could even think about it…”

“Jennifer, it’s fine.” Yaz says, and she smiles to ease the tension, but her insides are in ribbons. “You can show me, if you like?”

Jennifer’s face becomes more open. “Really? It’s not that excitin’ Yaz.”

“Mate, if I really didn’t want to, I’d let you know.” Yaz replies, titling her head to the side and shrugging. Jennifer holds her hands up in mock defeat.

“Fine. Come in.”

She rises, and Yaz longs to reach out and help, but that action might be too hasty. Their friendship is still delicate, spun from fine fibres, not yet solidified. Yaz does not want to break the thing under a tough grip.

Yaz follows Jennifer into the cabin. It smells damp, and it’s cold and far from luxurious, but Yaz can see Jennifer has at least made some sort of effort to make it homely. A small string of fairy lights line one wall, draping over the grotty window. A small lightbulb flickers when Jennifer flicks the switch, and Yaz can see the sleeping bag is surrounded by a pile of blankets and two pillows. A rickety old bookshelf leans against one wall, storing a few cans of food and some bottled water. Next to it is a carboard box filled with the metal parts Yaz had seen through the window, the wire Jennifer had been holding now sitting atop the pile. In the corner, another blanket covers something big and bulky. Something thick lodges in Yaz’s throat. She lives like _this?_ An image of the Tardis shoots through Yaz’s mind, its comforting glow, how it had seemed to speak to the Doctor, ever protective of her thief. Yaz does not feel this cabin affords Jennifer much comfort.

Jennifer notices Yaz looking around, and mutters, “I know, not much, is it?”

“No, you’ve made it look nice.” Yaz says, trying to spare her blushes. Jennifer smiles, but looks unconvinced by Yaz’s compliment.

“Here,” She suddenly says, darting forwards. She kneels down, favouring her unharmed side, and drags whatever is covered by the ratty blanket into the centre of the room. She flicks back the blanket, and Yaz crouches down to inspect what is underneath.

She is not quite sure what she is looking at. “What is it?”

“It’s the main thing I’ve been working on,” Jennifer explains, finger fiddling. They are crouched over a bulky metal contraption, wires and cogs settled within the core. There are gaping spots where nothing resides, and when Yaz glances from the contraption to the carboard box filled with metal parts, she can see Jennifer is still in the process of making whatever this is.

“Right, but what _is_ it?” Yaz asks. She looks up when Jennifer does not answer straight away, and catches herself at the expression on the woman’s face.

It is the same look she had worn on her face the day previous, when the medic had asked her about the burn marks on her temples: eyes glazed over, mouth slightly open. She blinks slowly a few times. “Do you know…” She says slowly, voice a lower tenor than usual. “I really don’t know.”

“Jennifer?” Yaz asks, edging slightly closer. Curious. Devastating, if she stops to think about it, but Yaz cannot allow herself to do that at this moment.

“It…” Jennifer wets her lips with her tongue. “I think it’s meant to… fix the trees.”

“Fix the trees?” Yaz repeats, posing it as a question. What does _that_ mean?

“But I don’t know why…” Jennifer says, and she shakes her head. Yaz can see her breath in the chilly atmosphere of the cabin. Yaz goes to put a hand to her arm, to trying and break her out of whatever dream-like fog which has descended upon her, but she suddenly snaps upright, blinking rapidly and inhaling sharply. She looks to Yaz, confused. “Did you say something?”

Yaz hesitates. “…No.” She finally decides to say. Their friendship has only just been cemented, that trust made of fine fibre, prodding Jennifer about this might be a step taken too soon too harshly. “No, nothing.”

“Oh.” Jennifer says, and she sniffs, bending down to pull the cover up over her machine again. “Well, that’s it. It’s not terribly exciting but… it keeps me busy…”

Yaz sighs, breath fogging in the air. She feels torn, caught between the relief at having earned Jennifer’s trust and upset at the dismal state of her living and these sudden periods of…. Absence. It reeks of something wrong. Which is not to say she does not _like_ the woman in front of her, she certainly does, and she has been kind with Yaz once she had let some of her walls down but…. It as if she is built out of the disparate edges of the Doctor, the other woman cut away and this woman stitched up out of the debris in her place. It raises both anger at the situation and churns up her care for the Doctor, that feeling of finally being able to help her in some way, and now that the other woman has been amenable to Yaz’s outstretched hand of friendship, the desire only grows stronger. 

“Oh, Yaz, do you have the time?” Jennifer suddenly asks her, eyes going wide with panic. She stumbles over her feet to stand and staggers over to her ‘bed’, hand darting to her side as she falls to her knees again and rifles under one of the pillows. She pulls out an old-fashioned alarm clock, eyes going even wider at the time it displays. She lets out a groan of exasperation. “Oh, no, I should be at work!”

“You have a job?” Yaz asks, more shocked than she had meant to sound, but… well, the Doctor with a job had once been the topic of an hilarious conversation between her and the boys, and she has assumed, stupidly so, apparently, that Jennifer would not have a job seeing as she lives… as she does. “Sorry,” She adds, “I’m not saying that I didn’t think you’d have a job, I was just… interested.”  
Luckily for her, Jennifer has been too preoccupied with digging out a burgundy scarf from her covers and wrapping it around her neck. And she pushes herself up again with a grunt, straightening her beanie. “I’m always doing this, always loosing track of time…” She looks to Yaz, letting out a short breath as she straightens her scarf. “It’s in town, just a small electrics shop. They pay me to do repairs, seeing as I’m good with the electronics and all.” She says, wiggling her fingers before she stuffs them in the pockets of her puffer jacket. “And I should have been there half an hour ago. Sorry to err… cut this short.”

“It’s alright.” Yaz says, although disappointment curls up inside her like a weary animal. A thought occurs to her, how to drag this morning out into its very entrails. “Do you mind if I accompany you down there? I’m meeting my sister anyway.”

That is a lie, Yaz knows Sonya is away with friends.

“Oh,” Jennifer fidgets. “Well, if you’re going that way, that would be… nice.” She finishes on with a wince. Looking sheepish she adds, “I was going to walk, though. It’s a long way.”

“That’s alright.” Yaz adds, peppy, compensating on Jennifer’s behalf to reassure her. “I don’t mind a long walk.”

Jennifer gives her a close-lipped polite smile, one Yaz has seen on the Doctor’s lips so many times, and her stomach twists as she follows the other woman out of her cabin, watching her lock it behind her and pocket the key before stuffing her hands back in her pockets as they make their way into the woods and to the city. That is something else different about Jennifer Yaz has noticed: the Doctor had been all bombastic, loud movement, when hands were tucked in pockets it was always with a point to be made, a casual position of casualness, and whilst Jennifer still retains that… clumsy movement of the limbs the Doctor had possessed, the way she curls her hands into her pockets now is in a small, defeated way, an animal curling into a ball. It makes Yaz’s own insides curl up on themselves to think this is what has become of that same woman who would use such actions as demonstrations of power in subtle moves (literally).

Seeing her like this now, Yaz _knows_ that the Doctor could not have done this to herself, that this is not some ‘Timelord trick’, as Ryan had suggested. Why would she make herself this way? Why would she hurt herself with the scorch marks on her head and all they seem to suggest about what is going on inside said head as well? Why would she set herself up in this hovel of a home without electricity, without water, with winter on its way, and absolutely no proper furnishings?

Yaz pulls herself away from those thoughts, suddenly aware she must spend the next half an hour walking side by side with the subject of her distress, and that getting mixed up in her own desperation would not do either of them any good; she does not want to put Jennifer at any ill ease, and whilst the woman seems to her, now, a shadow of the Doctor, Yaz is drawn to the shadow like someone beaten down furiously by the heat of the sun, finding that out of the glare of the sun’s constantly looming presence, how it hides away its core behind beaming rays of smiles and spiel, she has earned the shadow’s trust and now a blossoming friendship is taking place in its shade. If Yaz is to sustain that, she must keep up the pretence of having never known anything but the shadow, to have never been illuminated by the sun’s rays, for the shadow not to compare to the sun but to be the shade in which she has walked this entire time.

The shadow- Jennifer, Yaz shakes herself, _Jennifer,_ who she must treat as a person in herself, she tells herself, referring to her as a shadow will not help either of them- is quiet beside her, but Yaz can feel her vibrating with tension, with words, like a pot ready to boil. Now, that _is_ like the Doctor.

“Yaz?” She asks, and Yaz hums as she treads her way through roots and leaves, careful not to trip up. “I umm wanted to thank you, for the biscuits.” Jennifer winces, and her hands gesticulate within the confines of her pockets so that her whole torso moves. “What I mean is, I wanted to thank you for bringing the biscuits to me… _because_ they are…. Kind. The biscuits are kind.”

Yaz gives her a bemused look, an amused smile tugging at her lips. It causes her to trip slightly over a root, but it is worth it, and she straightens instantly, watching as Jennifer’s cheeks flush pink with more than just cold as she fumbles for the words. She lets out a sigh, rubbing her thumb across her forehead.

“What I mean is… _you’re_ kind, Yaz. Coming out and bringing me biscuits and… talking to me. Feel like I’ve been talking to myself for so long!”

Yaz’s chest tightens at the thought of the Doctor- _Jennifer,_ she has _got_ to get used to that- being on her own for the weeks it had taken Yaz to find her, but she forces herself to joke and keep up that kind, peppy frontage. “Even though I have made you late for work?”

Jennifer shrugs, face scrunching up. “Ah, I’m never on time anyway. They don’t actually employ me, they just… pity me. I get a lot of that. Pity or disgust.”

“Well, I feel neither.” Yaz makes sure to reassure her, even though she can feel pity nagging at her like a small yapping dog. She pushes it down and focusses on her determination instead. The hope to help. “And I didn’t come here today for either of those reasons. I didn’t come here just because I’m police, too, I really did think you needed a friend.”

“I did.” Jennifer replies. “I do. I’m… glad… of the biscuits. I’m glad it was you.”

Her eyes meet Yaz’s, then, and they hold her gaze for the longest time they have since she has known the woman who stands in the Doctor’s stead. In fact, Yaz realises, the _Doctor_ had not properly looked her in the eye for weeks during their travels. Jennifer, whilst a shadow, is also easier to see, properly look at, as one is not staring into the blinding sun. But shadows are fleeting, too, constantly moving, and as they break out of the woodland and into the open air of the park Jennifer drops her gaze to her feet and they walk in silence for a while; the trust is strengthened, but it is still early days, and time is needed for the shadow to grow stronger, for the trust to grow stronger between them.

But the roots have been settled.

“Although, speaking of Police,” Yaz says once they are clear of the park and are heading into the city centre along the road, cars zipping past them, kicking up dust. “I promise we’re on the lookout for the men who attacked ya. We’ve got your descriptions, I’ll be on patrol tonight, we’ll find them.”

Jennifer nods, not saying anything, although Yaz notices her arm instinctively draw closer to her side.

“Do you feel safe?” Yaz asks her, worry nagging at her at the thought of the other woman not having any protection. Yaz had been her escort back last night, and by her own prerogative had checked up on her this morning, but whether she will be alright on her own, at her work, or whether the men will come looking for her then… “Because, if you don’t, there are things that we can do for you-”

“No, it’s okay.” Jennifer insists. “Really, I… I can deal with it.”

 _Can you?_ Yaz wants to ask. The bruising on her face is a vivid streak of colour against wan pale skin. But… similarly to the Doctor, to push would be to overstep the mark, although overstepping the mark now would be to test a fragile friendship, rather than try and expand a fraying friendship.

“Alright,” Yaz says, keeping her tone light and respectful. “Well, I’ll be looking, I promise you that.”

Jennifer makes eye contact with her again. “Thank you, Yaz.”

They continue on their journey in silence, not an awkward silence but rather one which sits between two people now comfortable with each other’s presence, although some hesitation does drift around the edges, in the air between them. When they turn onto a street bustling with people and Jennifer points to the signage of an electrical shop which reads Magpie Electronics, Yaz takes the prerogative to take the next steps towards finalising their friendship.

“Hey, let’s say we make this a weekly thing, the meeting up for biscuits. Perhaps a drink next time?” She suggests as Jennifer adjusts her beanie hat, bringing them to a stop outside the shop. Televisions and mobile phones sit in the window, all blaring out monotonous daytime entertainment, the colours of which are reflected back into Jennifer’s eyes, so that Yaz cannot make out the expression of them. She does, however, nod, which can only be a positive motion.

“I’d like that.”

“Great!” Yaz says, and then suddenly feels caught short as she realises she needs to make arrangements for _how_ that will become possible; she has so much running through her head the mundanities of everyday contact almost completely pass her by. “So, you have my phone number…”

“Err, I don’t actually own a phone.” Jennifer confesses, eyes to the ground. She kicks a foot against the paving slab below her and the whole thing wobbles. “I didn’t… I thought you just gave your number to me for procedure.”

Yaz feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Of _course,_ she does not have a phone. Yaz had not thought of that, it being so second nature to her now to assume everyone has a phone; even the Doctor had had one, although it had been a flip phone, but a phone, nonetheless. But why would Jennifer, who lives in a cabin in the woods completely off the grid, who has been stealing from the streets, apparently, be in possession of a mobile phone? She must have thought that Yaz’s imparting of a phone number was far from the hopeful outreached hand it had been for, the first dip into the waters of the mystery of the woman in front of her, but rather had just been a thoughtless move done out of necessity of the job. If Yaz could prove it to her now, she would storm to the next phone shop and purchase the woman a device there and then, but that would be to sprint the long road and wear them both out, and besides, practical matters following second once again, Yaz does not have that kind of money. So she fumbles, feeling a little off centre, to think how they can resolve this.

“Actually, you could always use the phone number for the shop?” Jennifer then suggests, indicating with her thumb to the sign above them, to the number printed in smaller font below the business’ name. “I’m here a lot, and they’d know you’re looking for _me._ There’s not many other crazy blonde women around.”

Yaz gives a light laugh at that. “Alright. If that’s best?”

Jennifer nods. “Also, if you wanted to, you could always pop in. Here and my home- I mean, the cabin.” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, looking embarrassed. Yaz wishes she could tell her there is no need to feel that way. “That is, if you have time. I know you must be really busy, and have much more important priorities-”

“No, I can do that!” Yaz says, interrupting her rambling. She then bites her lip, worried she has come off as overly keen. She feels as if she is stuck to the pavement, knowing she has to move soon, they have to say goodbye, but desperate to stay her feet have sunken into the concrete and refuse to move. How can she leave Jennifer, just like that? As if they have only known each other a few days, as if she is not the thing that Yaz is desperate to solve, desperate to help. They should wrap this up, she should say ‘see you later’ or ‘see you soon’ but Yaz finds she cannot, her tongue similarly stuck, as her feet are; stuck to the roof of her mouth like sealed there by cement.

Luckily, or unluckily, Yaz cannot decide, at that moment the shop door opens with the sharp ringing of an electronic bell, grating on the ears, and a man with hair flat to his head pokes his head out and latches eyes on Jennifer. “Ah, there you are! Can you hurry up? We’ve had loads of repairs in need fixing! Bloody kids getting too heavy-handed with their electronics again!”

Jennifer nods, and waves her hand in his direction. “Yeah, m’coming, Larry.” She turns to Yaz with a wince, looking apologetic. “I have to go.”

Yaz nods. _Please don’t go._ “Well, I’ll give you a call or pop in soon.” She says. Vague is good, open is good; don’t crowd her but make it known that you mean it. “And if we get those two men, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Yaz.” Jennifer says, moving backwards towards the shop, hand out to pull open the door. The smile on her lips is small, polite, but it is a smile nonetheless, and Yaz feels something release in her, and she finds she can move her feet again, shuffling on the spot. Jennifer is glad of this, she is happy about this. “For everything.”

Then she pulls the door open and steps through into the shop with a blast of blaring electronic bell. And then she is gone.

Yaz’s head is spinning; she is caught on a carousel, the emotions going around and around in her and Yaz does not know how to jump off. Delight mixes with sorrow mixes with worry mixes with desperation. But there is one salvation, amongst the morass, something which lets her take a deep breath, pull her shoulders back, and unstick her feet from the pavement and move on down the street, faces passing by in a blur. Hope. That is what she feels. Hope that, although this might be the beginning of a long journey, an unknown journey, it is, at least, the start of something.

The start of something, she hopes, that might bring the Doctor back to them.

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you like (or in fact can see) the image I've put at the end- I'm in no way an artist but I had a nice time drawing what I imagine the cabin to look like so I thought I'd share- but really wanna reiterate, I cannot draw for shit 😂
> 
> I also just want to give a heads up that I'm struggling with some stuff atm and it's affecting my writing and how quick I can do it, so if future updates are not as swift then that is why, but I promise I'll be working on it! 😊


	5. The Breadcrumb Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me five drafts, so i'm posting this version before i question it further- i've also had a bad spell of writer's block (probably the reason for so many drafts!) as well as a rubbish week so i apologise if this is waffly, etc.!
> 
> Just a quick TW for emotional distress towards the end of the chapter, along the same lines as in previous chapters, but wanted to give people the heads up! If you have any questions, etc. please hmu on Tumblr (walker-lister) or Twitter @walkerlister1 
> 
> Enjoy!

“A _cabin?_ ” Ryan says, hands on hips, eyebrows raised.

Yaz nods, letting out a long sigh as she lets herself slump onto the sofa. “Yep. Proper basic. No running water, no electricity. She doesn’t even have a bed.”

“Crickey.” Graham exclaims from his position on the sofa next to Yaz, raising his cup of tea to his lips and taking a sip with a quirk of his head, looking uncomfortable. They all sit there for a moment in a heavy silence which is weighed down by the depth of their thoughts, each of them thinking the same thing: of the Doctor’s planet, lost to a madman, of the Doctor’s ship, lose from its thief; both her homes, now gone from her, from her mind, and a lonely cabin the only company and reprieve for someone so stranded. Yaz’s chest feels tight, and she breaths in the steam from her mug of tea, trying to loosen the pain constricting it.

“Well, at least it’s something, right?” Ryan asks, shrugging as he perches on the sofa arm. “I mean, at least she’s not sleeping on the streets.”

“But it’s not half what she deserves or needs right now.” Yaz replies. Her fingers wrap tightly around her tea mug, soaking in its warmth. She wonders where Jennifer is now, the day after their meeting, whether she is hungry or cold; whether she is the one in need of this comforting cup of tea. “You guys didn’t see it. It’s falling apart, it’s got to be full of mould- I,” Yaz slaps her hand against her thigh, feeling that same frustration and desire to move, to do, as she had the last time she had sat here and they had discussed what they were going to do. “She needs to get out of there.”

“Then we get her out.” Ryan replies.

“We’ve got a spare room.” Graham suggests.

Yaz shakes her head. “It’s not going to be as simple as that. I got far yesterday, in earning her trust, but she’s still wary. I can’t just go there and offer her a place to live.” She sighs, running her free hand over her forehead. The Doctor had been wary enough when she had tried to corner her and talk about what was happening with her before Jennifer became the spectre haunting her body, and whilst Jennifer was wary enough for the reason of being said spectre, less than a person and less than the Doctor, Yaz is cautious herself about how much of the Doctor’s personality is retained within her. Jennifer might be more subdued in the ‘beaten-down person who lives in a cabin and is suffering from memory loss’ kind of way, but she is still the Doctor, just in a different form. Therefore, they still need to be careful in how they approach her, not scaring her off; they need to take the long road.

Yaz does not want to scupper their chances, when Jennifer’s confusion might be their way in to helping her, getting close, now that the Doctor’s defences are down, crumbled underneath whatever had been done to her. It is for the best for all of them if they can help her, and if they spook her and come on too fast, Yaz despairs over what might become of them all; she could not help before, but she has begun to help now, so she will do everything it takes to stick to that commitment.

“We’ve got to go slow.” She reiterates. “It’s going to be a long road.” She sees Ryan and Graham nod just as she ducks her head to her cup of tea.

“We understand love.” Graham says to her, patting her knee reassuringly.

“I do have a question, though.” Ryan says, and he gestures between him and Graham. “When are we going to meet her?”

Yaz thinks for a moment. “Well, it’s the same principle. We need to go slow so I don’t think we should all see her together just yet.”

“Well, what if she sees us all together, and that triggers something in her mind and she remembers?” Ryan suggests.

Yaz bites her lip. “She’s seen me three times, and she hasn’t remembered anything yet.”

“But I’m saying if all three of us are together. You know, her _fam…_ ”

Yaz sighs, hand curling around her mug. “You haven’t seen her, Ry. She…. It’s like she’s a shadow of her old self. Like she’s something completely different. I’m not sure just seeing us together is going to fix that.”

“Hate to say it, son, but I’m not sure looking at my ugly mug is gonna do the Doc much good.” Graham says apologetically to Ryan, shrugging.

Ryan sighs and pinches his lips together, looking at Yaz with concern. “And how are you dealing with that?”

Yaz frowns. “With what?”

“With her being like she is?” Ryan asks, and Yaz suddenly feels as if she is under a microscope, being examined, scrutinised. She shifts uncomfortably on the couch. She feels foolish a moment after, however, when she clocks the concern in both the men’s eyes, and she realises: they are not going to judge her, they are not going to look down on her or be disappointed if she admits to any vulnerability; they had been there for her when they had believed the Doctor dead, in turn then had bared their own emotion as they all grieved and tried to heal each other together.

“It’s… Difficult.” Yaz ends lamely. She licks her lips, forcing herself to express what she is feeling, knowing she will feel better if she does. “With how different she is it’s hard not to keep comparing her to how she was, to not see her as… less than. Trying not to think… What if we can’t help her? What if I try and nothing works? What if this is irreversible?”

Once her first worry had left her mouth, the rest had followed in a torrent. She sucks in a deep breath, summoning her courage which she had settled around her shoulders like a cape the day previous, emblazoned with a crest of hope that she _can_ help the Doctor this time. 

Graham nods understandingly. “It’s alright to miss her, Yaz. Even with this new… _her,_ thinking she’s called Jennifer and apparently human and all that, you’re still going to miss the woman she used to be. I mean, I think we all did that, after that Master bloke, right? Missed her being happy and upbeat all the time.” He says to the room, and Yaz catches Ryan’s eye, sees the agreement in them, the frustration, and she sighs, nodding. Graham places his hand on her knee, his best grandfatherly pose adopted. “And maybe, love, if we could see her and help her, too, that might take the pressure off of you?” Graham suggests, and Yaz feels herself internally cringe.

How can Yaz explain that no matter how much it pains her she is still filled with a desperate need to see Jennifer again. She is the only connection Yaz has now to the woman she used to be, and if Yaz were to let the chance to spend time with Jennifer and hopefully figure out how to help the Doctor, she would never forgive herself. No, chances to help where she had shrunken back in the face of unfamiliar, a new darkness in the Doctor, have passed, and Yaz regrets sorely not taking a stand against the shadows in the Doctor’s eyes then; she will do all she can to help this new shadow of her.

“Obviously I can’t stop you.” Yaz begins. “And I think you guys should meet her- of _course_ you should. Just… we need to be careful, like with the getting her out of that cabin. I don’t want it to feel like we’re swamping her. Besides, I really don’t mind spending time with her. I feel like I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Yaz trains her gaze on her mug of tea, extremely aware of Ryan’s gaze on her, inquisitorial, contemplative.

“Well, I trust you, Yaz, of course I do.” Graham says. “But when you think she’s ready, and you need to take a break, we’ll be here.”

“Thanks Graham.” Yaz says, offering him a kind smile.

“And you never know, maybe when you next get talking to her, you might find she remembers more than she seemed to at first. Sounded like she was in quite a state then. But with you as a friend, Yaz, she might open up a bit more.”

Graham’s words are like a soothing balm of reassurance which Yaz stows away close to her heart to keep safe.

“How do you think I should do it?” She asks. “If I just suddenly start going on about space and time travel, and she thinks she’s a human, that might scare her away more than meeting your mugs too soon might.” Yaz tries to joke, but she is seriously hoping the boys might be able to offer some advice, some reassurance that the long road is the best path to take.

“Well, you said it were like a long road, right?” Graham says, gesturing to her with his mug of tea, a drop sloshing over the side. Yaz nods. “We’ve got to take it slow, make sure we’re careful?”

“Yeah?” Yaz says, wondering when he is going to get to the point. Ryan must be thinking the same, as he looks at his grandad with confusion.

“Well, then, you’ve got to spread breadcrumbs.” Graham says like it is obvious.

“Grandad, this isn’t one of those old fairy stories or folktales you like so much.” Ryan says, shaking his head.

Graham sighs and waves a hand in his direction. “I know that. What I’m trying to get at is Yaz should sprinkle words and the like into conversation, enough that the Doc’ll notice, but not enough that Yaz is going to sound barmy spouting off about alien planets and what not.” 

Ah. Now, that does make sense, and suits their plan perfectly.

“So I’m saying just drop in some hints, phrases that might let us know how much she remembers.” Graham says, and he turns to Yaz. “What do you think, cockle?”

Yaz nods. “That makes sense. Good one Graham.”

Graham winks and raises his mug of tea in a ‘cheers’ action. “Not just a pretty face.”

“Not a pretty face at all.” Ryan mutters.

“’Scuse me?” Graham says to his grandson with raised eyebrow and Ryan rises from his seat, pretending to look busy.

“I’m just gonna go and look for the Chinese menu.” He says, heading towards the kitchen. Yaz feels herself relax: whatever Ryan had been thinking about, the time has passed and hopefully it will not crop up again. Graham shakes his head in mock exasperation, and Yaz lets herself laugh lightly, relieved and relaxed by the two men’s easy teasing. She finds herself looking forward to when the time might come for the two men to meet Jennifer and be more involved than simply listening to Yaz’s reports in what feels strangely like a boardroom meeting in Graham’s front room.

But for now, Yaz supposes, she is travelling down the road alone, and whilst hope clings to her shoulders like a cape, she will feel much better once she has the two men by her side; whilst she savours her time with Jennifer and the prospect of spending time alone with the Doctor, if that will ever happen again, is still an incredibly welcome one, having the boys there, being the ‘fam’ once again would be a nice change. Yaz would never chose to be wholly alone in anything; she has been to that place before, and it had done her no good.

And they are all going to need each other if they are going to make it through whatever this is, if they are going to fight their way through some indeterminate fog to find the Doctor again.

And a breadcrumb trail will be a good place to start. 

* * *

The next time Yaz sees Jennifer, it is much sooner than expected, and caught off guard Yaz finds herself having to scramble a little to collect together the breadcrumbs she will use to start to dig a little deeper into what is going on within Jennifer’s mind. It is going to be tricky, she is both trying to tend to the lush grass which has grown from the sowing the seeds of friendship whilst also beginning to strike a small shovel into the ground and dig into the soil to begin to uncover what lies beneath. She is going to have to work with precision and a careful hand, not wanting to churn up the topsoil any more than she needs to. Yaz supposes being thrown into it unexpectedly actually might be preferable than having time to plan and to think and then gradually overthink and stress; she can work well under pressure.

Yaz is coming to the end of her shift the day after her meeting with Ryan and Graham, and is in her office typing notes into her computer. The clacking of the keyboard becomes white noise as her fingers work quickly, focussed on the words appearing on the screen, when suddenly a hand slaps down on the desk next to her and she jumps, startled.

Her sergeant is stood over her, weary expression on his face. “Your woman is back again.”

Yaz blinks. “My… _woman?_ ”

“The one who got assaulted the other day.” Her sergeant explains, and Yaz’s stomach flips, and she is suddenly scared that something more has happened to Jennifer, that she might have been attacked again. Her sergeant must notice the panic flicker across her face as he holds up a hand in appeasement. “Don’t worry, she’s not been targeted again or been brought in for anything. She’s just…. well, she’s in the bins.”

“ _What?”_ Yaz says, pushing her chair away from her desk and standing.

“Sanj tried to get her to stop but she’s being very…. Persistent.” Her Sergeant explains, irritation lacing his tone. “But Nige came down and recognised her as the one who came in the other day you two had met already so…. Could you and go and deal with it, please? Seeing as you’ve built up a relationship.”

Yaz nods, feet already moving towards the door, eager to get down there. She feels nerves simmer in her stomach and she takes in a few deep breaths as she descends the stairs, letting her lungs fill deep, and by the time she has reached the foyer and is stepping through the automatic doors and around to the side of the police station building, she is calm and composed and feels mentally caught up with where her body has taken her.

What greets her is, however, enough to give her pause, and she comes to a stop next to an amused looking Nigel, mouth agape.

“She’s been at this for like ten minutes now.” Nigel says. “And who knows how long before Sanj spotted her.”

Yaz frets for Jennifer’s ribs and the other more minor injuries she had incurred a few days ago as the woman is stood within one of the large industrial sized waste bins shoved against the back wall of the police station, and must have had to climb in somehow. Yaz can hear the clanging of things inside being moved and she shakes her head in slight exasperation as she hears Jennifer muttering, voice echoing slightly within metal container. The top of her beanie covered head bobs up and down over the top of the container as she moves.

“Think she’s tryin’ to knick things again, like with the microwave?” Nigel asks her.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Yaz concurs. She turns to Nigel, wanting to confront Jennifer on her own. “You go back in, Nige. I’ll deal with this.”

Nigel goes to protest but Yaz nods and gestures in the direction of the main entrance and he accedes, turning on his heel and heading back towards the front of the station. Yaz straightens her shoulders, letting her courage and determination fall over her shoulders like a cape as she steps closer towards the bin.

“Jennifer?” She calls, and the banging and clanging stops.

There is a rustle of movement, nylon brushing against itself and other objects, and then Jennifer’s beanie-adorned head appears, eyes blinking in Yaz’s direction, her jacketed arms resting on the side of the bin.

“Oh. Yaz.” She says, as if surprised to find Yaz, a police officer, at the police station.

“Hi.” Yaz says, careful to keep her tone friendly, to talk along the lines of their friendship, rather than as a police officer to a vulnerable person. “What are you doing?”

“Err, looking for something.” Jennifer says, brushing her hair away from in front of her eyes.

“Oh, right, is it for the machine?” Yaz asks, thinking of her experiment in her cabin.

Jennifer’s eyes look sideways, and she pauses. She looks back at Yaz. “Yes.” 

Yaz nods, letting an amused yet non judgemental smile creep onto her face; like one friend jokingly teasing another friend. “M’not sure you’re going to find much in our recycling bin.”

“Ah.” Jennifer scrunches up her nose, echoes of the Doctor coming through in the action. It is getting easier to see it, now, on her face, although Yaz’s heart still skips a beat. “Yes. Maybe you’re right.”

Yaz smiles and is relieved to see Jennifer return it with a sheepish one of her own. “You need help getting out of there? Couldn’t have been easy getting in with your ribs.”

“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t think about that.” Jennifer says, and she begins pushing herself out of the bin, Yaz stepping forward to lend her a helping hand. She must find something within the bin to step on as she is able to propel herself forwards and swing one leg and then the other out of the bin, and then she is pushing herself away and hitting the ground with a small ‘oof.’ She winces, hand going to her side, and Yaz bites her lip in the face of Jennifer’s disregard for her injuries; now _that_ is like the Doctor. 

“You should be more careful with your ribs.” Yaz says, not unkindly, desperately trying not to sound like she is reprimanding. She takes a quick moment to look the other woman over; she looks much the same as she had two days ago, and Yaz frets at the way her cheeks are thinner than the Doctor’s, although whilst her hair is bedraggled it is not unclean. She supposes there is some things Jennifer still does not tell her about her way of life, although they are friends Yaz is a police officer, after all, and must do her job properly.

Jennifer scrunches her nose up in irritation. “They’re a right pain. Literally.”

Yaz chuckles, but her smile falls when she notices the way Jennifer stuffs her hands into her pockets, the way she pulls her shoulders into herself to preserve her warmth. She is shivering. The Doctor never really felt the cold, and, ironically, Yaz feels a shiver travel down her spine as she witnesses Jennifer huddle in on herself.

It sparks an idea.

“Hey,” She begins. “I get off shift any minute now. How about we go and grab something to eat? I know a café not far from here.”

“Oh.” Jennifer makes, a sound of surprise and to Yaz’s pleasure, delight. However another follows, a lot less positive. “Oh. Yaz, I don’t think I can afford-”

“No, it’s okay. My treat.” Yaz assures her, waving her hand about in a casual manner. No pressure, this is not a gesture to sate her own conscience. It just seems Jennifer could do with some warmth and some food, and Yaz thinks that perhaps there is not time like the present to begin digging deeper into what lies in the woman’s head; she needs to seize every moment she can get to help the woman. After a moment she adds, “I really would like to have something to eat with you.”

Jennifer’s protestations wilt, and she nods. “That would be… nice.”

“Good.” Yaz says, and before the other woman can think to change her mind, Yaz gestures in the direction of the main entrance. “Well, why don’t you come upstairs for a moment and wait while I get changed. It’s got to be better than being in the cold.”

Jennifer blinks, but then she nods, and Yaz sees the large shiver which snakes through her body, making her wiggle like an eel.

Yaz keeps the conversation light and airy as they head back inside and towards the staircase up to Yaz’s floor, asking Jennifer about what repairs she made in the shop a couple of days ago. She seems the other woman relax both physically and mentally now they are encased in the artificial warmth of the station’s heating system. _Good,_ she thinks, _if she is feeling comfortable now hopefully some food will make her even more so and I’ll be able to talk to her without feeling like I’m interrogating her._

That thought of interrogation makes her want to get out of the police station. Fast.

“Here, if you’d like you can just sit here while I get changed. I won’t be a minute.” Yaz says as they enter the hubbub of her office floor, a couple of her colleagues at their desks, one of them being Nigel. They look up from their work as Yaz enters with Jennifer, and Nigel narrows his eyes at Yaz but she shoots him a look that says ‘shut up I know what I’m doing’ and he ducks with head back down.

She guides Jennifer to her desk and pulls out her chair, and after a small hesitation the other woman sits down in it, slumping against the backrest, hands curling around the armrests. She looks uncertain, skittish, and Yaz supposes she cannot have many happy memories of this place, having last come here to report her assault.

“I’ll be right back.” Yaz says with a smile.

She leaves Jennifer sat in her desk chair, ignoring the twist in her chest at the thought that had it been the Doctor, she would have been up and roaming, exploring, talking to her colleagues, irritating them, no doubt. She shakes herself. She has really got to stop comparing Jennifer with the Doctor; it will not do her any good, nor will it do Jennifer any good. It is not her fault she is not the woman Yaz was hoping she would be.

Yaz changes fast, stuffing her uniform back into her locker as she shucks on her leather jacket and unpins her hair from its bun, uncurling into the braid Yaz had pinned against her head. She lets out a breath; she is Yaz once more, not PC Khan.

When Yaz returns to her officer, Jennifer is still sat at her desk, hands shoved in her pockets this time. Yaz is relieved to see her cheeks have a little more colour to them; it makes her look less washed out under the fluorescent light.

She feels a lancing guilt piece through her as she realises that she has left the details of Jennifer’s case open on her desk, the papers piled to the side, there as plain as day. Jennifer is looking down at her lap, and Yaz bites her lip. She decides to move past the fact.

“You ready to go?” She asks. 

* * *

The café is a cosy affair with plants hanging from baskets along one wall, and a menu written boldly in chalk on blackboard on the wall behind a counter filled with coffee machines and food displays and a till, behind which stands a rather weary looking barista. The whole room is painted a bright orange which is effectively warming, rather than garish.

Yaz leads Jennifer through the café, past the few patrons sat at tables either chatting or tapping away at their laptops, earphones in, to the back corner, where they will hopefully be afforded some privacy. She allows Jennifer to sit in the seat directly in the corner, noticing that wariness which falls over her in the smaller, unknown space, so that Yaz has her back to the room; her more withdrawn nature is so at odds to the Doctor’s usual bombastic attitude, and Yaz suspects it is from the memory wipe, and the disorientation that must have fallen. She clears her throat, pushing the thought away so as to appear relaxed for Jennifer. Before long someone has taken their order and they are sat with two cups of tea and freshly heated toasties in front of them, cheese dripping out of the side of Jennifer’s.

Yaz pretends not to notice the other woman practically inhale her food, and the way she burns her mouth on the cheese with the first bite, but her heart aches in spite of herself. Stars, if she could only take her back to Graham and Ryan’s with her… how long since she had last eaten?

Yaz allows herself the time it takes her to consume her own toastie to find the courage to begin digging into the soil, to find the words she wants to begin with. However, Jennifer beats her to speaking, and asks around a mouthful of bread, “When did you decide to become a police officer?” 

Yaz is taken aback for a moment, and she stutters, mouth gaping. She had not expected that. It was blunt and to the point, very Doctor, and Jennifer has yet to take the prerogative in their conversations, so this can only be a good sign. However, the Doctor already _knows_ why Yaz wanted to be an officer, Yaz had confessed one time in the Tardis library, spurred on after a tense situation which had nearly turned into an argument after Yaz had put herself in the line of danger in order to save a hostage. If Jennifer is asking, is it perhaps because she remembers, and is looking to see if she is remembering the truth? Perhaps this is the beginnings of some vague recollection, of the Doctor coming back? Or is it simply because she is interested, because Yaz is now her friend? Perhaps she has harnessed false hope, but Yaz sits upright in her chair and begins to speak.

“I was helped, once, by a police officer.” Her fingers trace the pattern of the wood grain as she speaks, gaze on her plate. “When I were… a little lost. Had given up. And she persuaded me that life was worth a second chance, and the way she helped me that day, made me turn my life around, it made me want to be able to make that difference for others, too. I like helping people. I like being an officer. I want to be able to make a positive change.”

“And the Police was the best way of doing that?”

Yaz considers this for a moment. “It were the most practical. Could make a living out of it. Besides, I think the force is in need of some diversity, some fresh blood.”

Jennifer nods in understanding, her eyes scrutinising Yaz, who diverts her gaze to her toastie to avoid such an intense stare. She cannot quite figure out Jennifer’s intentions, it could be genuine curiosity, or, as Yaz hopes, something triggered by recollection, but either why she is looking at Yaz intensely, as if trying to understand something.

“So what you do is about helping people, and then that helps you help yourself?” Jennifer asks, and Yaz falters for a moment at her questioning; where had this come from? It is certainly not the questions of something trying to recall someone, it is more like she is trying to understand Yaz’s motives… perhaps she needs to feel more reassured that Yaz is not doing this for her own conscience.

“Yeah. Sometimes.” Yaz affirms, and then she finds herself speaking a truth which surprises herself. “Although, other times I see people who are in a similar position to the one I was in, back then. Lost, in need of guidance, and it doesn’t become about me, it becomes about them. I know I can help out of experience, and not just because I’m a police officer. But because they’re a fellow… _person_.”

She had almost said ‘human’, but had swallowed the word down; she is not quite ready to accept the reality of what sits in front of her. Besides, it might not be reality; at this point, Yaz really has no way of knowing what she is dealing with, which brings her back to what she is trying to achieve… Yaz straightens her shoulders and throws out her first breadcrumbs.

_Here we go._

“And it’s not all the time that I want to be doing police work. I actually just came back from a sabbatical.” She licks her lips, allowing a nostalgic, fond smile to fall over her lips, bittersweet in this situation. “I wanted more than what I was living. Not because I felt lost here, but… because I wanted to see more, do more. I wanted more than Sheffield. More than… _England._ ”

Yaz mentally kicks herself; she had been about to say ‘Earth’.

Jennifer has a look of intense concentration on her face as she watches and listens to Yaz. She is crumbling the crusts of her toastie between her fingers.

“So you like to travel, like to…. Adventure?” Jennifer asks her, and Yaz nods, sucking in a shaky breath. _Yes, with you, in your marvellous machine._ She presses on.

“Yeah. Love it. Saw the most amazing places. Things I… never thought I’d see. I fell in love with it, really, but… it couldn’t last.” Jennifer does not respond, not in any significant way, to Yaz’s remark, and Yaz pushes on, throwing out some more breadcrumbs. “There were this one place we went. A friend I went with, her home… place called Gallifrey?”

Jennifer looks up at her, and for a moment Yaz’s heart skips a beat and she thinks _perhaps…_ But then she blinks, and her eyes are blank and void of any recognition. “Never heard of it.” She says, and Yaz feels something in her crumple into a small ball.

She pushes past it; she cannot lose her resolve quite so soon. She _will_ not.

“Well, it were ace.” Yaz says, pushing away memories of a planet left in rub and ruin, destroyed by a madman and wiped from the universe, its lonely orphan in front of her. The eyes of that madman float across her vision. “Although, some of the people there weren’t very nice. There were one man, seemed a bit… up himself. Called himself the Master of the place. I’ve no idea why.”

“Master?” Jennifer repeats, and Yaz’s heart is surely doing a quickstep by now by the way it keeps leaping and dropping. Yaz nods, and holds her breath, but Jennifer simply pulls a face of confusion, fingers still breaking apart the bread crusts, and shrugs. “Strange.”

Yaz’s heart drops down once more.

Yaz tries, for the remainder of their time together, and her throwing out the breadcrumbs becomes more and more desperate as Jennifer fails to clock them, to react to words she should know, that Yaz only knows because of _her,_ because of the Doctor. But they go over her head like smooth silk, only lightly brushing her consciousness as she listens to Yaz speak but not heavy on her mind, not weighing her down. She seems to be more interested in Yaz’s life, but Yaz’s hope that this is because she felt some strange recollection, a déjà vu, is beaten down and weary, like a cliff edge constantly beaten down by waves; Yaz is constantly beaten down by all that Jennifer fails to remember.

Even when Yaz says the word ‘Tardis’, disguising it as a ship she took on her travels, Jennifer does not react in anyway, and Yaz had been holding that word back with the hopes that that might be the final piece she would react to. But there is nothing, Jennifer has forgotten her ship, her _home,_ thinking instead that a rotting cabin in the woods is the only thing to her name.

Yaz has to take a pause, and a long gulp of tea to hide the pain she cannot help from coming over her face, as if she has just taken a physical blow; her breath is taken away as if she has.

“Who did you travel with? Was it family?” Jennifer asks, filling the silence. Her fingers are still breaking apart the crusts of her lunch; perhaps that is why she picked up none of Yaz’s breadcrumbs, her hands are already full. She might be more withdrawn than the Doctor, born of her circumstance, but like the Doctor it seems Jennifer is a fidgeter. Is she engaging in small talk? The Doctor would not have done that, the Doctor barely possessed social skills at it were… no, Jennifer seems to be interested in Yaz, and what Yaz can tell her about her life… Yaz just cannot see it being because it all is vaguely familiar, it is more like she is trying to figure something out; it reminds Yaz of the Doctor’s attitude of curiosity when exploring a new planet. Disorientation from a mindwipe, is she trying to get a better grasp of her surroundings and Yaz, the woman who has reached out to her?

“No, no, you couldn’t pay me to travel with my family. Not a chance!” Yaz says, smile tugging at her lips. It turns wistful with her next words. “Although, who I did travel with, it were like we were a second family. Two friends from here.” Yaz says, the breadcrumbs being crushed under the heel of Jennifer’s lack of recognition and she simply blinks at Yaz. Yaz sucks in a shaky breath, and goes on, feeling a little like she has nothing to lose, now. “And there was someone else, the woman from Gallifrey. She was kind of like a…. tour guide, really. But… we became really good friends. I…” Yaz coughs. “I really miss her, actually.”

Jennifer nods, and there is something like understanding on her face, but Yaz is so unsure of where she stands now, as if she is slipping and sliding on ice which at any moment could break and send her falling into the freezing waters of hopelessness. Perhaps Jennifer simply relates to the missing part of her words, of missing something, of _being_ missing.

“Amazing that, Yaz. Really amazing.” She says after a moment, clearing her throat and taking a sip of her tea. Her pale fingers are curled around the mug.

Yaz swallows past the thick lump in her throat. “Yeah.” She says, voice rough like the cliff edge of her hopes. “It really was.”

They sit in silence for a moment, Jennifer’s eyes darting about the place, thinking hard, Yaz can see, and about what? She gathers her remaining courage, her cape now slightly torn and crinkled, puddling at her feet, and she pulls it up over her shoulders once again. She goes for a different tact; Jennifer has asked all about her, and along that alley Yaz has come to a dead end, so now she will try a different street.

Jennifer has one pulse, slow healing injuries and has picked up none of Yaz’s breadcrumbs, so therefore perhaps there is a chance she is under the allusion that she has lived a human life; they have no idea as to why the Doctor suddenly appears human, so to try and figure out why she remembers nothing past the possible mind wipe, Yaz wants to understand if there is any connection between the mindwipe and the apparent change of species. Is there any way whatever has happened to her has convinced her she is nothing more than human?

So, she asks, “So, how about you? You must have learnt all that engineering and repair work somewhere!”

Jennifer’s hands pause in their tearing apart of the breadcrusts, and Yaz watches as her whole body seems to come to a halt, all but her mind, which Yaz can see working away at quick speed her eyes, which flick over the table top, not taking in anything, focused on the internal. “Oh, I errr…. Must have done.” She eventually replies, swallowing around the words, which seem to come reluctantly.

“Was it at university or….?” _Or your Timelord equivalent of a university? Did you even attend a school at all?_

Jennifer’s eyes remain on the table, but they have taken on a faraway look, and there is a crease in her brow and her tone is wistful when she replies, “Must have been.”

Yaz frowns, suspicion creeping upon her like a long-legged spider. It is vague, and does not offer her much, and Yaz is torn between drawing back and pushing further; obviously Jennifer is suffering from memory loss, and Yaz is sure the other woman knows Yaz is aware of this by now, having already admitted ot her the mess her head is, how she finds comfort in building machinery, and therefore Yaz does not want to come off as pushy, harsh, in asking anymore. She licks her lips, hesitating. She also does not want to return to Graham and Ryan feeling empty handed, as if she had not tried hard enough, despite both men, she knows, reassuring her they would never think that; this is more a case of Yaz battling herself. She decides that perhaps pushing a little further would not hurt, and she decides to pose it as friendly interest, rather than officer interrogation; she was not joking when she admitted that she lets her police posturing fall away at times when helping people and lets the commonality of kind take over. This might be a special case, with possibilities falling over species and remembrance and simply being, but Yaz cares for the Doctor more than… _most people,_ and right now the woman is in distress, in need of help, and Yaz… she will always be trying to provide that help, to the best of her abilities.

“We’ve talked about my travels,” She begins with, “…Have you done much travelling?”

“I…” The other woman begins, gaze fixed on the middle distance, but focussing on nothing in particular. Jennifer’s breathing is becoming more ragged, and her fingers are turning white with pressure as she grips the breadcrusts between them, crumbling them into pieces, into breadcrumbs of her own making, where she has failed to notice Yaz’s. She looks to be in pain, and Yaz’s spider of suspicion finds a mate in a moth of dread which flutters around in her stomach.

Yaz wants to reach out and touch her arm, tell her to stop, that it’s alright, she does not need to answer Yaz’s question when it seems to pain her to come up with an answer, but she does not dare touch the other woman and startle her. The long road requires a careful touch, or in this case, lack of touch. Yaz keeps her hands to herself, and opens her mouth to assure Jennifer an answer is not necessary, to draw the conversation away and sate herself with what she has already achieved today, but the other woman startles, eyes going wide on something behind Yaz and she stumbles to her feet, almost tripping over the table leg as she strides over to the counter.

Yaz turns, bewildered, as Jennifer makes a sound of delight and snatches at a half empty metal rack, which is meant to display granola bars, holding it up and examining it. The remaining granola bars held on the rack fall to the floor. All the patrons in the small café turn to look at Jennifer with surprise. 

“Err, madame?” The barista says, looking at Jennifer with confusion and a small amount of alarm. “Can I help?”

“Err, no, it’s fine.” Jennifer says absentmindedly, attention still on the rack in her hands. “This would just be _perfect_ for something I’m working on.”

And then, without further ado, she takes off, bustling out of the door, which slams shut behind her. Yaz sits for a moment, stunned, before she shakes herself and hastily gets to her feet. She stoops and gathers the granola bars, placing them down apologetically on the counter as she shoots the barista a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry about that. I can pay for it, if you want….?”

The barista shakes their head, still looking confused but not irritated by what has just happened, their eyes flicking to the doorway where Jennifer has disappeared. “It’s fine, it’s an old stand anyway…. Would you like your bill?”

Yaz nods and hastily pays, eager to catch up with Jennifer, if she can. Stepping out into the autumnal air, Yaz’s breath clouds in her face as she turns her head to and fro, searching for a blonde head covered with a beanie. She spots Jennifer a few feet away, testing the strength of the rack as she attempts to bend the metal between her hands, and Yaz strides towards her, letting out a long breath.

“You alright?” She asks lightly, trying to appear casual.

Jennifer glances up at her but does not seem to properly see her, as she pours adoration over the rack like it is a precious diamond. “This could be the thing I need to connect the parts I have so far. It’s good quality, but small, I’ll be able to fit it into- Oh.” She suddenly breaks off, blinking at Yaz, as if seeing her for the first sight, eyes clearing of the haze that had come over her. “Right. Yaz.” She says Yaz’s name as a statement of fact, and Yaz simply waits for her to say more, slightly concerned but treading carefully. “We were having lunch. Sorry, I….”

“It’s okay.” Yaz says, reassuring Jennifer that she remembers the woman’s confession at the cabin, that she does not need to explain her sudden change of direction and why she became fixated on the metal rack.

“And thank you, again, for paying.” Jennifer says, looking bashful, embarrassed, but Yaz nods firmly, assuredly.

“My pleasure.”

“I, err… I’m going to go and see if I can do something with this.” Jennifer says, holding up the metal rack. She offers Yaz a quick smile and jokes, “I promise not to raid any more bins.”

Yaz laughs, and it makes her feel relieved, that whilst they are parting ways now, suddenly, after an unexpectedly turn down an alley away from the long road, that things between them are still fine, that Jennifer still trusts her. Perhaps it is for the best that they part ways now. She has pushed Jennifer enough today; having some time to herself might be better in the long run.

“I have a free afternoon on Thursday.” Yaz says, blurting out the words before she can stop them. “How about I come round to your cabin then? If you’re not working?”

Technically, Yaz had said their meeting should be a weekly thing, but not only _once_ a week, and she hopes Jennifer does not think she is being pushy as she asks to see her sooner, rather than later; she is holding herself back a lot, going slow, but she allows herself this. Surely if she shows Jennifer her interest in seeing her, she will understand Yaz _wants_ to see her out of friendship, rather than out of a duty of care? Her admission in the café as to why she is an officer should hopefully fuel that fire, too.

Jennifer nods, hands fiddling with the metal rack, turning it over and over. “Alright. I’ll err… I’ll get some biscuits.”

“Sounds great.” Yaz replies with a smile, leaving it at that. She does not protest Jennifer’s offer to get food when the other woman clearly does not have much money; she does not want to make her feel belittled. “Would you like a lift back to the park?”

Jennifer shakes her heads, eyes drifting back to the metal rack. “No, no, it’s alright, I’m going to see if there’s anything more around… Not in bins though.” She says, looking to Yaz with a brief smile, but a small nonetheless, and Yaz is relieved once more, by the easiness of the joviality between them. The other woman might still remain perplexing, the state of her mind elusive, but it is becoming easier to talk with her, and Yaz feels as if she is on firmer ground. She catches herself at the thought; somehow it feels like betraying the Doctor, to be finding it easier to talk to this different version of herself.

“See you, Yaz.” Jennifer says, and then she is turning, and she is gone, Yaz waving her off, stock still on the pavement. She lets out a long breath, watching it cloud and then evaporate in the air. watching Jennifer go is like being torn in two every time, but at least Yaz has the assurance she will see her in a few days, now. However, Yaz is heart is heavy, and her cloak of courage and hope, in its battered state, is doing nothing to protect her from the cold and she draws her coat tighter around herself, tucking her chin into the collar. She could crumple right now, if she thought too much about how little Jennifer had remembered, how she had not reacted at all to the breadcrumbs Yaz had spread, could fall to the pavement and not move until the tide has turned and she feels stronger, able to carry on, but… she cannot, not after one meeting.

She makes the decision then and there not to report back to Graham and Ryan before her next meeting with Jennifer, when hopefully she might be able to garner more about what the woman remembers, what constructed life might be placed in her head, or what tatters of her old life remain. But right now, Yaz is not positive, images of the blankness in Jennifer’s eyes swimming in front of her own, and her grief rises, unexpectedly, like a tsunami… She has mourned the Doctor once before, and the familiar feeling of that grief, like a heavy hand on her shoulder, mixes with her tendency to see Jennifer as _less than_ the Doctor, as her broken parts; she is losing her all over again. And if she is not careful, and gets caught up in that tsunami of thoughts, she could lose herself, too.

So Yaz straightens her back and strides off, heading back to the station, to her car, not staying still long enough to let those thoughts take over. Her cloak is ragged, but it is still there, and there is still hope. 

* * *

Thursday dawns crisp and cold, and the air is like sharp ice in Yaz’s lungs, making it almost painful to breath as she heads across the park and towards the clump of trees which houses Jennifer’s cabin. The fallout of their last conversation in the café still sits within her, an uncomfortable prickling feeling across her shoulders and down her back, but Yaz ignores it, harnessing her hope, wrapping the cloak tighter; it is an effective protection against the cold dread of hopelessness. Her soft jacket protects her against the physical cold.

She stuffs her hands into her pockets as she trudges into the woodland terrain, twigs snapping, leaves crunching underfoot, and she walks in a slight daze deeper into the woods as she approaches Jennifer’s cabin, mentally going over what she wants to ask the other woman, what she wants to talk about; she is hoping to find out more about what memories she _does_ have, and whether they are the Doctor’s, or have somehow been manipulated by whoever had hurt her, and are fabricated human memories.

As a result of Yaz’s intense internal reflection, she does not notice the sounds of irritation and the muttering coming from inside the cabin until she is nearing the porch, and she stops, rearing back a little, trepidatious. The cabin door is open, the dark insides bared, and Yaz peers in, cautious owing to how distressed Jennifer sounds.

“Jennifer?” She calls.

Jennifer does not respond, and the muttering continues, accompanied by sounds of metallic clattering, of clanging reverberation ringing out as something heavy hits something else. Yaz steps onto the porch, wincing as the wood creaks underfoot, and places a hand against the doorframe and peers into the darkness.

Through the gloom of the dingy windows, Yaz can see Jennifer knelt on the floor next to her mechanic creation, hands moving frantically as she tries to hammer a small metal tube into the larger device. She grumbles as she works, and from the agitated quality of her movements, Yaz has a feeling things are not going to plan.

“Jennifer?” She says, knocking against the doorframe. “You okay?”

The other woman does not reply, does not even seem to notice Yaz’s presence as she lets out a cry of frustration, bringing the hammer down with more force so that it hits the metal savagely and then flies out of her hand, skidding across the floor to the other side of the cabin, disappearing under the shelving. Jennifer puts her head in her hands, fingers twisting into blonde strands, pulling on her scalp. Her beanie lies discarded on the bed.

Yaz makes the decision to step forward into the space, crouching down next to Jennifer to put them on the same level; she remains at a distance, not wanting to crowd the woman, who is not aware of her presence, as far as Yaz can tell. Her heart is hammering in her chest, but Yaz utilises her training and her natural propensity for helping people as she calmly says, “Jennifer, it’s Yaz.”

“I can’t fix it.” Jennifer whispers, but it seems to be more to herself than to Yaz, and Yaz pauses, leaning forward to hear the quiet words. “I can’t fix it.”

“Can’t fix what?” Yaz asks her, and Jennifer jumps, eyes wide as she looks to Yaz, surprised by her presence, hands coming away from her scalp but remaining in a claw-like position, fingers trembling slightly. Yaz tries not to let her worry show on her face; this is the most upset she has seen the other woman, her shock in the aftermath of her attack aside, and Yaz wonders what has brought this on.

_I can’t fix it._

Yaz recalls Jennifer’s admission that building and fixing her mechanical devices helped to calm the tempest of thoughts in her head, and her heart aches as she begins to suspect that Jennifer’s frustration to work on her device now is possibly increasing her distress at the state she has been left in after her mind wipe, and has possibly been brought on by increased distress at that state.

She can feel her planned conversation slipping from her fingers, breadcrumbs disintegrating.

“I can’t fix it.” Jennifer says again, looking down at her machine, her hands dropping to rest on her thighs, palms upwards, as if asking ‘How? How can I fix this? I need help.’

Yaz licks her lips, and bravely presses onwards, hoping that their growing friendship might start to bloom flowers in the grass, that in reaching out now it might grow and blossom into something even more trusting.

“Maybe I can help you?” Yaz suggests.

“Nobody can help me!” Jennifer cries, face scrunched in anger and frustration, as the Doctor’s had been when things were coming to a head with the Lone Cyberman. It comes out of nowhere, a knife flying out of the dark and lodging in Yaz’s stomach as it drops, and she sits backwards on her heels, trying not to let her surprise show.

The other woman has been wary, quieter, until now, and this sudden rage, flaring like fire, is a little unsettling; it could burn out of control, become a wildfire that Yaz will not be able to stop. It could burn the grass of their friendship before Yaz could even try to stop it.

Jennifer winces, hand coming up to the side of her head, and Yaz’s hand moves out to touch her before she can stop it, distressed herself at Jennifer’s pain, and Jennifer rears back. Yaz puts her hands up in a soothing manner, trying her best to admit calmness, even though her heart feels fit to burst from her chest.

“I need to be alone.” The other woman says, head bowed, lank locks falling in front of her face so that Yaz cannot see her expression, but her voice is cracked like pieces of broken glass, the fragments of her mind getting stuck in her throat, digging into her, making her bleed from the inside. “I have to be alone. I’m alone.”

Yaz tries once more, reaching through the flames, regardless of whether she gets burnt herself. “You don’t have to be alone, I can be here, if you want?”

“You don’t understand! You can’t understand!” Jennifer cries, and she looks at Yaz with icy fire in her eyes, looking Yaz up and down, lip curling; she looks strange, alien, but not like the Doctor, more like someone lost from any aspect of who they are and who they used to be. “How could _you_ understand?”

Yaz rears back at that, feeling tears prick her eyes; the dagger has been dragged from her stomach up to her heart, splitting her open. Jennifer has hit her where it hurts, the sensitive spot, and Yaz is unbalanced, cloak burnt away in the wildfire, adrift as a horrifying realisation comes over her.

_I cannot help her._

It is a transitory thought, present in the moment but not solid, not sticking like cement, but in its thinking, in the moment, Yaz cannot help the salt tears which run down her face in response to the sting. Perhaps she had been foolish to be so hopeful before, things with Jennifer going slowly, but well, and now she has been shown just how little she knows, just how much she is up against, and obviously, it seems, she cannot deal with it.

Jennifer’s eyes are still wild and unfamiliar, fixed on her machine, her whole body shaking. Yaz sucks in a shaky breath which catches at her lungs, forcing a sob, and she asks, “Do you want me to go?”

“Yes.” Jennifer spits, and her tone is disjointed, far away, her hands turning back manically to her machine. “Leave me alone.”

Her attention is focussed solely on the device once more, Yaz seemingly forgotten, and so, too, is the dagger in her chest, Jennifer offering up no apology for her behaviour. Yaz staggers to her feet, stepping back and, with one last glance back at Jennifer, she turns on her heel and leaves.

The walk back to her car is a daze, and the tears on Yaz’s cheeks feel sticky as the cold air brushes against the moisture. When Yaz gets to her car, she fumbles with the key and almost drops it getting it into the lock, and when she is inside, she folds into her seat, slamming the door behind her.

The tsunami of grief is harder to fight against now, and she lets it come, sobs leaving her body, Yaz unable to stop them. She feels out of depth, adrift, alone. It was easier to hold onto her hope that she could help Jennifer, could pull the Doctor from the ruins of herself, but they are now on fire, like the rubble of Gallifrey, left to burn and char, and Yaz has been badly burnt by the flames.

Thoughts of breadcrumbs and a grassy lawn of friendship feel foolish, now, childlike, naïve. Yaz suddenly feels the insufficiency of her species and her young age, how little she is able to help in this situation; how she is very much not what Jennifer needs right now. Her feelings are not enough. She is not enough. She is gone up in flames.

She just hopes the long road has not gone up in flames, too, and that there will still be a path to the Doctor in the aftermath of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading- I've had a rubbish week so if you have a nice word to say about this chapter, i would love to recieve a comment! But obviously pleased don't feel obliged ahaha!  
> I know Graham and Ryan haven't played much of a part in this so far, but that's going to start to change in the next chapter!   
> Also a heads up I'm going away this week to Cornwall (which I'm very excited about if you're reading my other story 'Rising Tides' lol) and won't have my chapter so the next chapter might take a bit longer, but I hope the long length of this makes up for that!


	6. Hitting at Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! And thank you for all the support so far!
> 
> TW: brief discussion of and reference to cancer and chemotherapy (in relation to Graham)

Yaz is just pulling into the space outside of Graham and Ryan’s terrace house when the younger man strides around the corner of the road, perking up when he spots her car and waving. Yaz gives him a half-hearted one back and releases her seatbelt, pulling open the car door and stepping out.

“Yaz, hey!” Ryan greets her, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder; he is coming back from university. The quagmire of thoughts and emotions in Yaz’s head must show on her face, for Ryan’s smile drops into a look of concern. “Yaz?”

Something crumples in Yaz, brittle and fragile like a fragile piece of paper, and her breath catches on a sob, and Ryan’s expression of concern turns into one of alarm. He places a hand on her shoulder.

“Yaz, mate, what’s happened?”

Yaz shakes her head, brushing away the tears on her face impatiently; she has been crying too much, caught up in the tsunami of emotions, feeling very far away from herself. “S’nothing. I’m being stupid.”

Ryan pulls a face. “I doubt that.”

Yaz is touched by his belief in her, the constant support of a best friend, a brother in name, if not blood. Somehow, that thought does not make the tears stop, and instead they come harder, and she is being pulled into his embrace, smelling his aftershave and his natural scent, finding comfort in one member of their ‘fam’ who remains as strong and steady as a rock.

“Come on.” Ryan says after a minute, and Yaz pulls back to sniff and wipe at her eyes again. Ryan gestures at his home with his head. “Graham’s probably looking for an excuse to order a takeaway in this evening. I think you’ve just given him one.”

Yaz lets out a wet laugh and follows Ryan into the house. 

* * *

“Okay, so, it seems the breadcrumb thing has told us she doesn’t seem to remember much of anything, and that we need to change our approach.” Graham says a little while later as they sit in his front room once more; it seems to Yaz this has become their board-room, where they come to discuss strategy and gameplay concerning their friend. The cup of tea in her hand now seems mandatory, traditional.

“We’ve got to keep at the looking for any signs of the Tardis.” Ryan says, leaning against the wall opposite Yaz’s position on the sofa, too restless with all Yaz has related to them in the last half an hour, thinking hard. “If we find that, I think that will be the biggest help in trying to help the Doctor.”

“I’ve still got the discords and web searches going.” Yaz offers up.

Ryan nods in approval. “And I’ve got me Twitter alerts on my phone, but I’m thinking, how likely is it going to be that we’re actually going to stumble across something?”

“So you think we should give up?” Yaz asks, hackles raised slightly. She is feeling delicate, and Ryan’s words are too much like a criticism in her state, and she cannot help but rear back; she needs to get her bearings back, recover that cape of hope and courage from the ashes and reconstruct it anew.

“No, I think we should keep doing those things, but we need to do _more._ ” Ryan says, and his hands come up in an exclamation of ‘eureka!’ as he thinks of something. “I might be able to track down the Tardis, some way.”

Yaz raises an eyebrow at him. “How?”

Ryan foot taps against the ground as he thinks. “If I can get some time after lectures and stuff, I could possibly see if there’s anything I can find that we learn about in uni that could help. There’s got to be something, something to do with the energy. You’ve got to still be swamped with the artron energy the Tardis runs on.” He says to Yaz, and she nods, a fond smile tugging her lips upwards slightly despite her despair; she remembers a better time, when during their time aboard the Tardis the Doctor had noticed Ryan’s interest in machines and engineering and had begun giving him lessons, tutoring him on mechanics… it had all gone pear shaped with the Master’s appearance.

She nods, speaking with an encouraging confidence. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Ryan scratches the back of his head sheepishly, suddenly shy. “I’m not sure whether I could get it to reach past the atmosphere, but it could work on Earth, at least?”

“Anything that can help. If you have the time with uni, that is.” Yaz says.

Ryan shrugs with one shoulder. “S’still early days into the semester. I’ve still got _some_ extra time.”

He shoots her a grin, and as Yaz’s mind churns over past events it brings forth another idea, a mental lightbulb going off. She sits up straighter, feeling a familiar and, in her state, comforting determination come over her. “If we’re looking for more to help, perhaps there’s something I can find on the records at work about that organisation the Doctor was talking about, the one that was disbanded? UNIT? Maybe there’s something on file there, something about the Doctor, or someone who knows the Doctor and could help?”

Ryan and Graham consider her suggestion for a moment, until eventually Ryan nods, a little reluctantly. “If you’re okay with doing that, mate. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for it.”

Yaz shakes her head. “I’ll be very careful.” She hears herself say even as worry grips her insides. She could possibly get into trouble for going digging for something potentially confidential but… she could always cover it up as an innocent search into something she had heard about; this is too important to pass up, a chance she will not miss. 

“Well if you two are making yourselves busy, I need to do something, too!” Graham says. “Now, we’re talking mind wipe, memory loss. Now, I know the Doc ain’t human, not really, but she appears to be now, so how ‘bout I get into researching memory loss, and what we can do about it- memory recovery techniques, an all that? I got a load of spare time that you kids don’t.”

Yaz nods, thinking the idea a brilliant one.

“I could look on the line,” Graham says.

“Online.” Ryan interrupts.

His grandad points at him. “ _On_ line. And the library as well, there’s gotta be something there, too.”

Yaz nods, feeling slightly calmer with this new determination, this new drive. That does not negate the fact, however, of Jennifer herself, and she feels her stomach clench with dread and a terrible feeling of hopelessness at the thought of the woman. Ryan notices this, and shoots Graham a look, who smiles sympathetically. “Yaz…” Ryan begins. “Talk to us.”

Yaz sighs, slumping back onto the sofa, feeling traitorous tears sting her eyes, preventing her from speaking lest she sob until the lump in her throat has receded. She had told the boys, once Ryan had ushered her in and Graham had embraced her in a warm hug, what had last happened with her two previous meetings with Jennifer; the lack of recognition to Yaz’s breadcrumbs, and the lashing out in distress. “It’s just… before, with the Doctor, she wouldn’t open up to me, would barely talk and now… now it seems like this other version of her won’t either.” Yaz bemoans, scoffing self-scathingly. “Maybe I was stupid to think it would be easy to gain her trust like that. Maybe I’ve been fooled by her apparently being _human_ into thinking that would have made it easier for her to open up to me.”

“Woah, Yaz, mate, please calm down.” Ryan says kindly, moving to sit next to her, resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he leans in to talk to her. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Yaz, love, it sounds like she’s been through a lot.” Graham reasons. “And you said she was behaving quite erratically, distressed?”

“Yeah.” Yaz nods. “She kept muttering over and over, ‘I can’t fix it.’”

“So perhaps she reacted to the way she did to you less because of you in yourself, and more because of how she is feeling? I’m sure she’ll feel terrible once her head’s clearer.” Graham reasons, his voice filled with grandfatherly kindness and the knowledge and experience of his years.

Ryan nods in agreement, and Yaz licks her lips, leaning into their suggestion, finding sense and clarity though the fog of upset.

“I think you handled it brilliantly, love, and I’m not surprised, really, seeing as it’s you.” Graham says, giving her a wink as he raises his teacup to cheers her. The lump in Yaz’s throat returned, summoned by good feeling rather than bad, although like a bitter aftertaste contemplation of Jennifer and her state soon follows. She swallows heavily. “It’s just horrible seeing her like that, seeing her so distressed and not being able to help. It _was_ when she was herself, and whatever was bothering her was eating at her, but with this new situation? With her not remembering anything about herself and living in that _cabin…_ Seeing her is like getting stabbed in the stomach with how much it hurts.”

Stabbed in the stomach, and then the double blow of Jennifer’s lashing out… Graham and Ryan’s words have soothed her like a bandage to the wound but it is still weeping slightly, blood dripping in pearly drops; even if it heals over time, Yaz knows she will always have the scar of this day, these weeks, of what she has been through.

“Look, I know I said last time it was okay to miss the Doctor, but it is also okay to take some time to get used to this version of her, too.” Graham says, and he brings his hands together as he adds, “It took me a while, when I first got sick, to accept the new person I had to be. Now, I’m not saying the Doc being like this is anything like when I got ill, but what I am trying to say is that it takes time, you’re not instantaneously going to be completely okay with who she is now. And you can’t help that, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. Alright, Yaz?”

“Yeah man, I think I’m struggling to get my head around this new her, and I’ve not even met her yet.” Ryan chimes in. Yaz smiles gratefully at both men, at their honesty, and their bearing of their own wounds to help Yaz with hers; they really are a second family.

“In a way, I suppose, it’s like grieving her all over again.” Graham says, shrugging a little, palms facing upwards. “I’m not saying we’re never going to get the old her back, but at this moment, we don’t know and… well, it’s not exactly been plain sailing the last few months, has it? Starting with that Master bloke, and then Gallifrey and then… well, the time before she came back, and _then_ you travelled with her being very closed off and _now_ you’re having to deal with this! That’s a lot of emotions for one person, Yaz! And I’m sure it’s probably dredged up the grief a lot.”

Yaz nods. The emotions which sit heavy like a stone within her core do strike a very similar feeling to the grief she had felt when the Doctor had ‘died’; she feels lethargic, heavy, far away from herself.

Graham gives her a reassuring smile in response. “So, it’s alright for you to feel happy and confident about it at some times, and defeated and upset at others. No one is expecting you to do this perfectly. Least of all us. And I’m sure the Doc… if she knew what you were trying to do to her… she’d be dead proud, Yaz.”

Graham has done it again, the lump in Yaz’s throat is back in full force and she feels the tears that sting her eyes make their way in slow trickle down her face. She swipes them away with an impatient movement of her thumb, and Ryan puts a reassuring hand on her knee. “Thanks Graham.” She manages to croak.

The older man beams at her. “No problem, love. Now,” The older man slaps his hand against his thigh and rises from his seat. “I’m going to go and find the menu for the chippy. Pretty sure they do pies, but I want to make sure…” He heads for the kitchen, the sounds of his footsteps echoing down the hall. Ryan and Yaz sit in silence for a moment, and it is expectant, and Yaz can feel Ryan’s gaze on her as she sips her tea. She tenses.

“What, Ry?” She asks him, not looking his way but instead focussing on the piano tucked against the wall behind Graham’s armchair; the Doctor had sat at the piano and played a concerto piece, once, much to their amazement. The keys sit lonely and untouched now, dust their only companion.

Ryan shifts slightly on the sofa before he speaks. “I’m worried about ya mate, not going to lie.” He hesitates before continuing, but when Yaz does not react in any significant way he adds, “Just… after what you said last time, I’m worried about you putting too much of yourself into this.”

“What do you want me to do, Ryan?” Yaz asks, turning to face him. “She’s…. not herself, how can I not put everything I have into helping her?”

“I get it, Yaz, I understand.” Ryan says quickly. “And when you feel the time is right for me and Graham to help, we’ll be right there with ya. I admire that part of ya, mate, you know I do, the way you throw yourself into things and help people the best you can, but… well, this is a bit different, isn’t? Because this is hitting at your heart as well, more so than anything else.” Yaz flinches, head dipping to look down at her tea and Ryan moves closer, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Yaz, I know what it’s like to try your best to help the people you love and lose all sense of yourself in the process. I know what it’s like to place your self-worth on them and how they treat you because you love them. I mean, for years I didn’t think I were enough because of how my dad treated me, and I blamed myself for his leaving.” Yaz’s tenseness wilts under Ryan’s admission, and she raises her eyes to his, softening them like caramel in the face of her friend’s honesty. Ryan pats her shoulder once lightly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Yaz, and you’re like a sister to me, and I’m not saying this to upset you or tell you you’re wrong, but I know how much you care about the Doctor, and I know that sometimes even the strongest people find themselves judging their self-worth on the people they love. I just don’t want you to think you’re failing her if we can’t… if we can’t get her back to how she was. I don’t want to blame yourself. I mean, I for one think you’re doing amazing, hearing what she’s like, hearing what she was like when me and Graham stopped travelling. Just… please don’t put yourself through the pain of thinking you’re not good enough and that you’ve failed her. I know she wouldn’t have wanted you to feel that way.”

Yaz is speechless for a moment, deeply touched by Ryan’s concern and flummoxed by his words. She knows how right Ryan is; Yaz is harnessing her love for the Doctor into a hope that she can help, and she realises now that she is teetering on a precipice which could be her very end if she cannot help the Doctor, if Jennifer cannot be brought back to what she once was. Travelling with the Doctor and caring for the Doctor is a dangerous game to play, where one’s feelings can easily get steamrollered; Yaz has already been victim to that to some extent, and she realises now she is already begin to tumble off the side of that cliff-edge once again, judging herself by how much she is trying to help Jennifer.

“I know.” Ryan chimes in, having watched Yaz’s realisation. “It’s easier said than done, but… at least you’re aware of it now.”

Yaz nods, letting out a long breath. Ryan is right, once again. She has been caught in her upset and her urge to do something to help ever since she turned up on their doorstep, dazed and confused. And before that she had been fighting against thinking she was not good enough for the Doctor in the way the other woman was treating her. If she is not careful, that desire to do something, now that the time to act has come, could come at the cost of her health; she must be careful both to take the long road, but in walking it, not lose her sense of self-worth along the way, leaving it in the footprints which trail behind her. She must harness the innate sense of perseverance, that power within her, carved from the beating-downs life has already given her and fuelled by her finding the strength in her own self, and use it so it does not kill her self-worth; she will refasten her cape of confidence around her shoulders and ensure it is not measured by the tape of Jennifer’s reaction to her.

She nudges Ryan lightly with her shoulder, and he laughs, shooting her a smile. She is bowled over, as she has been many times since she returned to Earth with a _thump,_ at his personal growth, how he has grown from the young boy who was tripping over his own self-doubts and uncertainties into the man who sits next to her now, as strong and steady as a rock. “When did you get so wise?” She says jokingly, and Ryan cocks and eyebrow and shrugs.

“I watched a YouTube video.”

Yaz laughs, feeling rejuvenated and revived in her determination, now she is aware of not dragging herself down in her efforts to help Jennifer; it makes her cloak thicker, more warming, made not from material that itches at her, bugging her with its weight, its pressure, but of light silk which is pleasant to the touch. It is restored, and Yaz herself is on her way to feeling better, and with these two men by her side, their unexpected and funny formed family, she feels ever-more confident in doing so. 

* * *

Graham watches Yaz leave, ambling down the path through his front garden, and sighs. The food in stomach sits contently and the fresh post-dinner cup of tea is warm in his hand, and Graham takes his comfort from them- the small things, knowing that sometimes, that is the best thing in life.

“Gramps, I’m going to go and study.” Ryan says, popping his head in the doorway.

Graham nods. “Alright, son.”

He watches his grandson clamber up the stairs, all large hands and gangly limbs, with a fond warmth in his heart. When he turns back to the window, he feels it warm for Yaz, too, as she climbs into her car; they are his grandchildren, the both of them. They are the big things that he takes comfort in.

The other is…. well, very far away from herself at the moment, it seems.

Graham sips at his tea, staring out at Sheffield by night, sprawling before him, lights twinkling, and lets his eyes trail upwards to the night sky, polluted by city light, as he lets his mind wander to thoughts of the Doctor.

He understands Yaz’s desperate need to help the Doc in her hour of need, sympathises with the dire straits Yaz finds herself in, but he worries about her pushing herself too far for the Doc’s benefit. His words had seemed to go through to her, and he admires Yaz’s tenacity and her maturity, he does not think he could have handled this situation as well as she is when he has been in his early twenties, but nonetheless, the situation is… odd.

_What a strange turn of events our family finds itself in._

Strange is expected with the Doc. Becomes mundane. But this? This really takes the biscuit.

He understands Yaz’s need to help as he can sympathise with how tempting it must be to reach out and help the Doc with her being so… vulnerable like this, from what he has heard. No more self-constructed barriers cutting them off from whatever was going on in her brain ( _brains?_ ). Yaz does not want to feel useless, and neither had he and Ryan when they had formulated their next steps, Graham is not simply going to sit around and wait for Yaz to do all the work for them, he will do what he can to help the Doc out, for useless is how all three of them had felt a lot of the time in their last few months travelling with the Doc.

They had tried, lord knows they had, but there is only so much you can push and pester with concern before it becomes harmful to yourself to do so; don’t cut your palms trying to break down the walls with your bare hands, his mum had used to say to him. And the Doctor’s walls had been as thick as anything. They were still there for her, though, in the interim, and then they had done all they could to fight the cybermen, the Master, to reach the Doctor on Gallifrey, to help her then, but in the end…she had still died… or so they’d thought.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and all of them had been wracked with guilt and grief, Yaz most of all, caring soul she is, and even when the Doctor had reappeared, the grief they had felt had still tarnished them, staining their hearts and minds. And the Doc had been… well, no answers were very forthcoming, like trying to squeeze blood from a stone; they were so close to breaking down paper thin walls, but stubbornly they stood standing. Yes, Graham can understand Yaz’s need not to be useless.

He has understood it before, had understood it, lived it, breathed it during chemotherapy. A shadow of himself, he had felt cut off from the life he used to live, from the person he used to be. That is, until he met Grace. Grace, who made him want to live again, to be someone better than he had been before his diagnosis, and who had shown him, most importantly of all, that living for the day and choosing the person you want to be is the most important lesson of all. Graham was not defined by who he used to be or by the cancer which had sickened him, but by his decision to come back fighting. In a way, the Doc had also taught him this lesson: showing him the wonders of the universe, the past and the future and the mysteries of the present, Graham had been pulled from a sinking pool of grief and revenge and chose instead to be the man Grace O’Brien would have wanted him to be; the man she deserved, the man Ryan deserved as a grandfather, and the man and grandfather Graham chose to be. It was this valuable lesson that made him take a step back when the Doctor’s secrets and her posturing and performance became evident in light of the Master, made him consider why she was doing such performing: she was choosing who she wanted to be, who she wanted to for them… her Fam.

This is not to say Graham did not have his moments of doubt, they all did, considering how much of a maniac the Master was, and when certain truths began to leak reluctantly through the gaps in the wall like trickling water- _thousands of years old…_ what must someone of that age have seen? Done? But Graham could see the genuine determination on the Doc’s face to not be consumed by those years, to be the better person…. And so, he had felt satisfied with letting her keep her secrets, accept who she wanted to be for all of them. Soil eating and all.

But, Graham considers, as his tea begins to cool to an acceptable temperature to drink, they had all been taught the lesson that talking to those who care for you is much better than keeping your feelings clamped up behind iron clad walls; and he thinks, a little sardonically, that they might be in a better position to help the Doc, now that she cannot seem to help herself, if she had told them a bit more than simply the bare essentials. What had she been searching for, for example? Certainly, if it is as dangerous as to do to her what it has done, and if it is indeed linked up to all that had happened with the Master and Gallifrey… what on earth are they facing? This is where he faces his dilemma, now that they might potentially be in danger or have a truth hidden that is important to them; like on Orphan 55, the Doc had kept that truth from them and yet they had a right to know it, whether she was protecting them or not… he wonders whether they might now be owed explanation after all this is over, if she is ever returned to herself. He will not see any of them hurt, not Yaz, not Ryan, not the Doc, and if secrets are kept and they are put in danger because of that, that Graham finds harder to reconcile with.

The prospect of meeting the Doc- or Jennifer, as she is now- is one that fills him with both desperation and trepidation. He longs to see his friend again, but he rears back at the thought of a woman so guarded being stripped back and refitted in a new mould, a new _species._ It is, of course, not simply the being a human being that makes you a person, but how you are _being_ human that does, and Graham worries about where all that pain and those secrets which had been crammed up inside the Doctor have gone now that she is so… altered. She has not been given the grace of choosing who she is, this time. That has been done for her, and a rotting cabin and apparently fragmentary memory are here lot. And they must pick up the pieces.

Graham turns from the window with a sigh, padding over to his armchair, settling back into it with a click of his joints. Once again, the ground beneath their feet has shifted, the dynamic of their fam changing, and not only do they have to wonder what secrets the Doctor keeps, they have to what brought the Doctor to this state, to Jennifer, and how they fix that. A puzzle wrapped in another puzzle, an endless enigma. Maybe human beings were never supposed to understand, he ponders, the secrets in the Doctor’s eyes and in her years, never solve the puzzle, but the game has changed, and new players must come to fore. And they will be there for her. The Doctor might not have been able to choose who she is at this point in time, but Graham has learnt that lesson, and so have Ryan and Yaz, choosing their own paths, their own choices defining them and making them stronger. He had overheard what his grandson had told Yaz that evening, how you should not derive your self-worth all from how you are useful to others, and he does not think he has been prouder, to know that Ryan has grown to be such a stead-fast, conscientious man. He has made his choice as to who he is, as have they all. And right now, they choose to stick with her once more, to support, even if they do not know all the truths, once again.

 _And that, Doc_ , he thinks as he sips as his tea contentedly, _is something you cannot change, no matter how much of you is hiding away._

* * *

Autumn leaves nip at her heels as Yaz saunters down the steps outside the station, allowing herself to lose the tension in her shoulders as her shift comes to an end, early evening drawing in. It has been a couple of days since her cape was so dramatically ripped apart and then sewed back up against my Graham and Ryan’s care, and she is feeling stronger, but still uncertain as to when she should dare try and get in contact with Jennifer again; she hopes the other woman is alright, has eaten, is warm… those practical worries worm their way inside, squirming within her. Unfortunately, she has yet to have a chance to look into any records on UNIT, being out on the beat in the cold autumn air.

She is startled when her phone suddenly starts to ring, and she fumbles it out of her pocket, not bothering to check the caller as she accepts the call and puts it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Yaz?”

Yaz startles at the voice on the other end of the line, coming to a stop halfway across the car park. She clears her throat, heart in her mouth. “Jennifer?”

“Yaz, hi…” Jennifer says, and then there is a pause on the other end of the line, and Yaz can hear a sharp inhale. “Listen, could you meet me?”

Yaz blinks. “You want me to meet you?”

“Yeah, if you can.” Jennifer says, sounding hesitant and sheepish, another difference from the Doctor. A car beeps and Yaz turns to see one of her colleagues looking at Yaz with an expression of annoyance, and she raises a hand in apology and jogs over to where the car park opens out onto the street, heading down the pavement. “Yaz?”

“Sorry, sorry,” She apologises, having realised she has not replied, mouth gaping as she tries to take in what the other woman has asked, sudden nervousness settling into her skin. “Yeah, yeah, I can. Where?”

“Er, I just need to finish up something at the shop, could you come here?” Jennifer asks, and Yaz can hear something metallic clanging in the background, a voice speaking. “Just tell Larry that you’re meeting me.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. See you in a bit.” Yaz says, surprise still catching at her tone, but as Jennifer rings off, she finds herself beginning to feel not only nervous, but excited. If Jennifer has called her, asked Yaz to meet her, it must mean she wants to see Yaz again, and be that for better or worse. Yaz’s whirring mind cannot rule out the possibility that Jennifer wants to meet to tell Yaz she wants nothing to do with her, but there was something hesitant and sheepish in the tone of her voice which makes Yaz hopeful that is not the case.

Either way, she has Ryan and Graham’s words and her own excitement to focus on as she pushes those thoughts to the side and focusses instead on trying to find her way to the Magpie Electronics store.

She will see what awaits when she gets there. 

* * *

A bell chimes as she enters Magpie Electronics with a shrillness that grates, and Yaz stamps her feet on the doormat as she lets out a long breath, a little winded from her swift walk from the police station. 

Yaz lets out a long breath as the warmth of the electronics shop envelops her, and she makes her way through the aisles lined with electronics big and small: televisions, iPads, phones, tablets. The shop is not overtly big, so it feels very crowded, and a little worn down: the blue carpet on the floor is faded, and behind the counter there is a selection of more ‘retro’ gadgets which tells Yaz this is not a shop interested in promoting only the most current, high-tech gear. It is a little old, a little retro; strangely, it suits the Doctor perfectly.

“Hi, can I help you?” A man at the counter asks, and Yaz realises it was the same man she had seen when she had dropped Jennifer off the first time. 

“Hi.” She greets Larry, who leans across the counter. “I’m looking for Jennifer?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s in the back.” Larry replies. He looks at Yaz suspiciously. “Why?”

“Oh, I said I’d meet her here. I’m her friend.” Yaz replies, and Larry’s eyes widen.

“Oh, wait, are you Yaz?” He says, pointing at her.

“Yeah?” Yaz replies, tone drawn upwards in suspicion. “Why?”

“Oh, so you are a real person. I thought she was just being weird again.” Larry says snorting.

Yaz gives him a long look, already disliking him immensely. Larry shuffles, sensing her hostility, and clears his throat.

“So, err, how do you know Jennifer? Seems like she’s a bit of Jane Doe case.”

Yaz raises herself to her full height, and says pointedly, “Oh, I’m a police officer. I helped Jennifer when she was assaulted.”

“Wait, you’re a police officer?” Larry asks, eyes suddenly wary, and Yaz sees him move something out of her view to under the counter. She gives him an unimpressed look, barely fighting to keep the smirk off of her face. The man coughs again, and he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, looking sheepish and a little peeved. Good. “Go on through. It’s the door at the end of the corridor.”

Yaz thanks him without properly looking at him, shuffling through the small gap between the counter and the shop floor and through the doorway to the back rooms. There is an office to the left, and what must be a small break room to the right. Down the end of the short corridor is a closed green door; that must be where she is. Yaz moves towards it and knocks. A voice calls in reply.

“Come in!”

That is definitely Jennifer.

She turns the doorknob with a click, and the door creaks slightly as she opens it. She is greeted by bright, artificial light from the strobe bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and she blinks past the glare, her eyes roaming over the worktables which line all three of the four walls, the fourth taken up by filing cabinet and a large cabinet storing labelled electronics behind glass panels. Two of the three workstations are empty, but the other one….

“Oh, Yaz, hi!” Jennifer says, looking up from her workstation, hands freezing in their work, a small screwdriver in one of her hands, the other holding a computer circuit board. Her navy beanie is still plonked on her head, and the strobe lighting of the room washes out whatever colour her gaunt face might possibly have held. She looks at Yaz with a wariness in her eyes, and Yaz immediately notices the way she politely stands and moves to greet Yaz.

Well, she goes to greet Yaz when her she catches her foot on the edge of the desk, tripping over it and stumbling. Yaz darts forward to catch her before she hits the floor and jars her injuries further, hooking her hands under Jennifer’s arms and helping her leverage herself upright again. The other woman does with a pink tinge to her cheeks, self-consciously readjusting her jumper where it had ridden up. She shoots Yaz a sheepish smile. “Can’t find my own feet sometimes…”

Yaz shoots her an understanding smile, letting her breath rattle out of her, pushing down her nerves. She can sense an undercurrent of awkwardness between them, and Jennifer does not look her in the eye as she adjusts her hat. “Thank you, err, thank you for coming.”

“That’s okay.” Yaz says, stuffing her hands in her pockets to hide her sweaty palms. She looks towards Jennifer’s workstation. “What are you working on?”

“Oh,” The other woman says, turning to her desk. “Just the circuit board for a broken computer. Apparently, the owner decided that hitting it would make it work properly.” Jennifer says with a raised eyebrow. She gestures behind her with her hand. “It can wait, though. I wanted to speak with you.”

Yaz’s heart lurches at that. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I, ummm…” Jennifer looks at her feet, hands fidgeting at her sides with no pockets to stuff them into. Her own breathing is as ragged as Yaz feels, and suddenly the pall light and the oppressive nature of this artificially lit room become unbearable, no place at all to have the awkward conversation Yaz feels they might be about to go into.

And so she says, “Do want to go somewhere a bit more relaxed? We can grab a drink and maybe something to eat?”

Besides, she is not going to pass up the chance to try and get something substantial into the other woman.

Jennifer seems to perk up at that, looking to Yaz and nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

And then Yaz remembers the Doctor’s sweet tooth, and how her preference for custard creams had carried over to Jennifer. “Fancy a hot chocolate?” 

* * *

Yaz allows Jennifer to pick the café this time, and all hopes at getting something nourishing into the other woman go out of the window when she picks an ice cream parlour, her eyes lingering longingly over the signage as they had almost walked past it; she admits to Yaz she has passed it on her way into work, and every time wondered what their delicious offerings might be like.

The interior is a replica of the traditional 1950s Americanised diner, and Yaz and Jennifer get themselves comfy in a booth in the corner of the room, Jennifer facing out into the room and the few patrons in the diner itself. There is music playing in a lull in the background, a crooning song of a singer long dead, fitting for the interior, creating a general sense of fantasy, a sense of being cut off from reality and in another time and place altogether; this does not feel like Sheffield at all. Well, until the spotty teen at the counter comes to take their order and speaks in a broad Yorkshire accent, that is.

Jennifer barely looks at her as they wait for their orders to arrive, her focus on her fingers, which trace random patterns in the table-top, and then move on to pulling out a dozen of the napkins from the holder, beginning to fold them into random shapes. Yaz watches, entranced, as thin fingers move quickly, until Jennifer has constructed a swan, and pushes it across the tabletop towards Yaz. Yaz makes a sound of delight, gently taking the swan in her fingers. Jennifer shoots her a small smile, and Yaz feels something in her begin to relax.

Soon after their orders arrive, a ice-cream sundae sumptuous dribbled with chocolate sauce for Yaz and a pile of pancakes for Jennifer, complimented with ice-cream and banana and chocolate and- well, Yaz is fairly sure the woman ordered every single topping available on the menu. Placed besides them are two hot chocolates. They eat in silence for a while, Yaz feeling ever so slightly uncomfortable, their interactions caught between the remnants of their last interaction and a swan fashioned from a napkin. Opposite her, Jennifer squirms, even as she practically inhales her food; they are both feeling the tension.

It is when Yaz ice cream is coming to the last milky dregs and Jennifer’s pancakes are mere crumbs on her plate that the woman across from Yaz coughs, fingers moving to their usual agitated tracing across the table top now there is no food to occupy her.

“Yaz.” She begins, and then clears her throat again. Her eyes remain fixed on the table. “Yaz, I err- I…”

Yaz looks at her, patient, imploring, nervous. Jennifer’s eyes flick up to her, and the expression on Yaz’s face must reassure her somewhat as she lets out a short breath and lets tense shoulders relax, hands stopping their fidgeting and instead curling around one of the discarded napkins.

“Yaz, the other day, I were….” Her eyes narrow as she looks for the word. “…. A bit wobbly. I didn’t act- that wasn’t- that wasn’t good of me to snap at you like that.” She says in a rush of words, and Yaz feels herself tense. Jennifer’s fingers wrap even tighter around the napkin in her fingers. “And I just wanted to say that… I’m sorry.”

Warmth floods Yaz, despite the cold snack she has just consumed, at the sincerity in Jennifer’s words and eyes, her nervousness revealing how sorry she really feels, how much she must… value Yaz?

The woman across from her scratches at her forehead, dislodging her beanie somewhat. “I didn’t ermm…. Want you to see me like that, it wasn’t very- it wasn’t good.” She gives Yaz a sheepish smile, looking incredibly apologetic, being honest, being more open than Yaz has seen this woman, with a coherency of knowing that has been rare so far. “I were frightened of scaring you off. But then I realised… you’re incredibly capable, wanting to be an officer to help people, and you’d come to find me in that cabin to help, and even when you saw that, even when you knew I’d been stealing… you weren’t put off. I should have seen you wouldn’t be like other people, I should have known it’s alright to trust you.”

Yaz’s mouth hangs open slightly in shock, and she cannot even think whether she should say something now or not because she is still absorbing those words. Jennifer gives her a quick smile, before she looks down at the table again, and her fingers begin to move, tearing into the napkin in her hand, a sure sign that her nerves have returned in full force once again. Oh no, what now does she have to say? 

“I just…” Jennifer begins, and there is an edge to her words of both pain and disgust, and her lip curls slightly, fingers ripping and ripping the napkin. “I don’t know what’s happened to me, Yaz. I…. I’m scared. Really scared.”

She looks up at Yaz, face a painting of agony, of vulnerability, a vulnerability the Doctor so little showed. Yaz herself is frozen, as still as a statue, shock holding her limbs stone still.

“I don’t remember anything. Only when I dream, and even after I forget, its just small shreds of memory. Little shreds that I can’t quite make sense of…. That’s all that’s left of my memory, all I can remember of myself.” Jennifer’s fingers have begun to ferociously rip her napkin to pieces, and they flutter onto the table, running from her pain and misery. Her face is twisted in confusion and frustration and she stares into the middle distance. “I wasn’t even sure of my name, at first.” There are tears in her eyes as she says, “I don’t know who I am, Yaz. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know how I can just… fix things with my hands, I don’t remember anything only….” Her breath shudders out of her, and her hands twists the remnants of her napkin into a wretched mess. “There’s just fire and fear and confusion, and just glimmers of faces and happiness…. That was my life, but I don’t know what it was. I don’t know! I don’t-”

“It’s okay.” Yaz says, melting the ice which had formed around her in shock and reaching forward to take Jennifer’s hands in her own, encouraging the other woman to drop the napkin pieces on the table. “I understand, it’s alright.”

Really, Yaz understands very little, but Jennifer’s confidence, her admittance to vulnerability and uncertainty strikes a chord of relatability to Yaz as well as being a shock. A shock because the Doctor would never had admitted something so moving such as this; oh, she would admit to being scared in the thrill of the chase, in the saving of the day, but not the true feelings of fear one gets when they are struggling. She had been hoping for an apology, and have got that in droves, for a reassurance that things between them were stable, but she had not been expecting such an explicit admittance of Jennifer’s feelings.

It is shocking both in its happening and in its telling, for Yaz is taken aback by the telling but also by what is being told; if Jennifer is admitting to not remembering anything but remnants, rags of memory, then it brings some closure to Yaz, a conclusion to what she had been trying to get out of her the last time they had spoken. The closure is not pleasant, her fingers have been jammed in the door with the closing, but it brings a certainty at a time when everything feels so…. Tempestuous. And it is shocking in the being told at all, in the confidence…. That itself is comforting to the tempest, and Yaz is overcome with affection, with sadness and sorrow mixing with a selfish relief that she has been trusted in, and she squeezes Jennifer’s hands in hers, leaning in closer as the other woman sniffs, head bowed.

“I can’t imagine what that must be like.” Yaz says to her. She cannot help herself, has to make sure. “To not remember anything about yourself.”

Jennifer shakes her head. “It’s like I’m a completely different person. Like my head is just…. empty. It’s worse at times than it is at others,” one of her hands detangles from Yaz’s, unconsciously moving towards her temple, to the scorch mark there. “I’m just… trying to survive.”

Yaz’s heart clenches in her chest and she runs her thumb over the back of Jennifer’s hand. “If you need anything, I’ll be there. I want to help you.”

Jennifer lets out a long ragged sigh, and Yaz longs to cover them both with her newly restored cape of confidence and hope, to tell the women of rags and fragments in front of her that Yaz understands, because she knows why the woman is like this, even if she does not know the details, cannot understand fully how they got to this point, to _Jennifer_ , and is so thankful that she has been let in instead of pushed away. She can help this time, as she was hoping to, and now, she is optimistic, with the being let in, she can do it without wearing herself down at the same time, too, even if the circumstances are still a shock, it is becoming easier to deal with.

Jennifer nods, sniffing once again. “Thank you, Yaz.”

One simple nod, and Jennifer has accepted something Yaz has been looking for, longing for, for months: a helping hand. Her spindly fingers within Yaz’s symbolise the support, the bridge between the both of them.

She is solid under Yaz’s grip, not a shadow, but a tangible person, and now, Yaz realises, the precipice is gone, and the game has changed, and a new player has entered, who is not simply a shadow, jagged parts of a person who once was: Jennifer Smith.

And she has just checkmated Yaz.

“I’m sorry I haven’t made much progress with the men who attacked you.” Yaz says, feeling as if she needs to make an admittance now, if only to put them on a level playing field. She takes in the fading bruises on Jennifer’s face, and winces, guilt lancing through her. “They are being oddly elusive.”

Jennifer shakes her head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. They haven’t bothered me since.”

Yaz licks her lips, a suggestion on the tip of her tongue. Jennifer has accepted her offer to help, their friendship and the trust cementing itself through admissions of weakness and worry. “Don’t you think you might be safer if you found a place at a shelter? I know they’re only on a nightly basis, but they have protection, and I know there’s a woman’s shelter-”

Jennifer cuts her off before Yaz can finish with another shake of her head, her fingers tightening within Yaz’s hand. “No, no I prefer the cabin. It’s not exactly homely, but it feels safe.”

Yaz nods, and accepts that, as much as she wants to take her back to Graham and Ryan’s right now, but that is still not feasible. She has to respect this woman’s boundaries and choices when there is so much she does not have.

 _At least now,_ Yaz thinks, _I can be something for her._ _A dependency, a reassurance, a friend. Without secrets held close to a chest for reasons unknown, without perhaps being scared of appearing vulnerable because she already is vulnerable and needs a friend. She has realised she does not need to be alone, and that I can be there for her._

And for Yaz… it might not be the same as understanding, finally, what had been on the Doctor’s mind, and Yaz knows that is still niggling at her, deep down, but this for now is more than she could have foreseen when she ran from Jennifer’s cabin to scathing words. It is a victory, in its own odd manner it is a victory.

And now, Jennifer is coming into sharper definition, not a shadow but…. a precious jewel reshaped until it is familiar, but evidently different from its shape before, but still to be treasured, still to be… loved.

And Yaz has the privilege of keeping that jewel close, and she will not let it go again.

Whatever shape it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I have hangups that not much happens in this one! I promise in the next one we're going to get some more Ryan! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> come say hi!


	7. All I do not know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided just to post this now as this chapter was going to be longer, and include Ryan (poor Ryan, I keep saying he'll be in the next one and then he isn't- he will definitely be in the next one!!), but it was stressing me out a bit so I decided just to leave it as is! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

For the first time in a long while, Yaz strides into work with a perk in her step.

It has been a couple of weeks since Jennifer’s admittance to Yaz in the ice-cream parlour, and since that time their friendship has grown stronger, and any doubts Yaz might have had about Jennifer sticking to relying on Yaz, on trusting in her to help, are washed away with every hour they have spent together. Their meetings have been more frequent, more open and honest, and whilst Yaz cannot say this is preferable to having the Doctor, there are certainly benefits to be had in the openness that now connects them. It has been made easier by Yaz’s asking off Ryan his old mobile phone, which is still workable it has just been…. Tampered with by the Doctor, when they had first met, and she had not known her name for entirely different reasons from the current situation. With a resetting to the factory settings, Yaz had a perfectly fine mobile to offer to Jennifer, who had taken it with gratitude and a slight hint of embarrassment, but when Yaz had insisted it would not go missed, she had excitedly started examining it in nimble fingers.

They have been texting on and off ever since, which has made meeting up easier, and therefore they have been doing so more. 

Yaz is still struggling to swallow the bitter pill of the Doctor’s memory being completely wiped, but it is better now to know when Jennifer is feeling fragile and in need of some help, and that Yaz can be the one to provide it. Whilst Yaz has been meeting Jennifer, her and the boys’ research has continued, and Graham had been prompted one evening to offer her the suggestion of giving Jennifer a notebook. _“If she writes down anything she can remember, no matter how small, it could improve her overall recollection.”_

Yaz has yet to give the other woman the notebook, not having found the right time; Yaz has not drawn attention to the vulnerabilities Jennifer had admitted to, that were obvious, if Yaz is honest, and has been waiting for the woman to come to her, not wanting to push, even now she has been let in. Yaz is not there as a therapist, or a carer, she is there as a…. friend; the door is always open to asking for help, but Yaz is not going to force it open to prove that point. And it does make her doubt, sometimes, when she lies in bed at night, thinking of Jennifer in her freezing cold cabin, whether she should be doing more, but then she asks herself…. What more can she do? Graham’s suggestion on how to improve her memory is going to take time to bear the fruit, _if_ the fruit _will_ bear, and they are still proactively searching for the Tardis. The Doctor would know Yaz is doing what is best for her, for all of them, even if she is not herself… And it is for the best for Jennifer, Yaz thinks, to have a friend to support her. The notebook sits in her bag waiting for the opportune moment.

Whilst is it difficult to see no improvement in Jennifer’s memory as time drip drips away Yaz feels peppier in spirit and in step as it becomes easier to face her every day; Yaz no longer sees her as a shadow of the Doctor, rather a different…. Shade of her. Characteristics, quirks of personality which remain innately no matter what has been wiped, remind her of the Doctor at every turn, and Yaz finds comfort in them, not just because of said reminder, but because of how Jennifer herself _is_ in her being. Now that she has opened up to Yaz and their friendship is blooming, her wariness has abated around Yaz, and whilst it is hard to be cheery when your memory is wiped, she warms and brightens in Yaz’s company. There is something in her eyes a little less… _knowing_ than how the Doctor had looked at Yaz, as if she understood the human being stood in front of her with the wisdom of her thousands of years. Jennifer has none of this, and when she looks at Yaz softly it is mellowed with innocence, with wonder. Yaz likes it, but it fills her with a sense of dread, of fear of the unknown to admit that…. She is starting to _like_ Jennifer. Jennifer as herself, not just Jennifer as a placeholder for the Doctor. It helps for her to tell herself that this is temporary, cheeriness breeds optimism, no matter how tentative and uncertain that optimism that this is all temporary…. That is relative to how things will pan out.

Her phone buzzes in her hand as she walks through automatic doors and into the station foyer. Yaz is on a night shift, and the light outside has already fallen and Yaz has the strange feeling of going underground when she enters the station at night with no light outside to soothe the artificial glow of the lighting inside. She turns the screen upwards to read the message.

Ryan: You coming to ours for tea tonight?

Yaz replies.

Yaz: Sorry, night shift :/

Ryan: ☹

Yaz slips her phone into her pocket, knowing her sergeant would be less than impressed to see her on it at work as she climbs her way up the stairwell to her floor. She feels guilt gnaw away at her at the thought of Ryan and Graham; she has not quite told them all that has happened between her and Jennifer. Not how the woman opened up, not how since then Yaz feelings have grown and grown. She does not want Ryan to worry more than he already does, they trust her, of course they do, but Yaz is also aware they know how she feels about the Doctor, and she does not want them to know just yet just how befuddled and bewildered she now is by how she feels about Jennifer.

Yaz has some time before she needs to head out on patrol, and she gets changed in record time to make to her desk as quick as possible, committing herself to finally getting around to searching up UNIT on the police’s databases.

She casts wary glances around her as she wakes her computer up with a shake of her mouse, making eye contact with Nigel for a moment who gives her a nod in greeting, which she returns.

“Any sign of those men?” She asks him. She has been lucky enough to have the weekend off.

Nigel shakes his head. “Sorry, Yaz. Think Searg might pull it soon.”

Yaz cannot hide her irritation. “What? No! They hurt Jennifer!”

“Why do you care so much?” Nigel asks, more curious than indignant.

Yaz turns back to her computer, focussing on logging in to hide the slight flush to her cheeks. “I just don’t want them getting away with it. She was in a vulnerable position. It was cruel and cowardly.”

Nigel shrugs and nods, knowing he cannot argue with that. “I’ll keep an eye out as much as I can Yaz, for as long as I can.”

Yaz shoots him a grateful grin. “Thanks Nige.”

Once Nigel has turned his attention back to his own work Yaz gets on with hers, making short work of bringing up the database search function. Her fingers linger over the keys for a moment, last minute indecision gripping her, but then she sees Jennifer’s fearful face in her head, the Doctor’s echoing screams ringing in her ears, and determinedly types UNIT into the search bar.

And then waits.

And waits some more.

 _We have_ got _to get a better network connection,_ she thinks with a sigh.

Finally, the page reloads with search results.

Yaz’s face drops.

Nothing.

Yaz scrolls, making sure she is correct, but there certainly is nothing on the near-blank webpage. She bites her lip, deciding to try different variants of the name, typing it in lowercase, with dots between the letters, but still… there is nothing.

 _Well, so much for that,_ she thinks with agitation. She had tried not to put too much hope into this investigation, but she supposes she has been waiting for the time to do it for so long she has built it up subconsciously in her brain. It was a longshot, the Doctor had said, when they were dealing with the Reconnaissance Dalek, that UNIT had been shut down, but it is a disappointment, nonetheless.

 _I’m sorry, Doctor._ She thinks, and then, _I’m sorry, Jennifer._

Yaz bites the inside of her cheek, wondering whether….the Doctor would not have just given up at those searches, not so easily just like that, and so with determination Yaz turns back to her keyboard and begins to search different words: Tardis, timeship, alien, and then finally…. ‘The Doctor.’

Still, there is nothing. Nothing of consequence, nothing useful…. Yaz leans back in her desk chair and sighs, hearing the frame creak under her weight. Another dead end. There are a lot of those, it seems. Still, she tells herself, her newfound positivity swooping in, your dead ends are relative to how you perceive the situation. This is a dead end, but Yaz is turning corners in other areas. Her radio crackles in its sleeve on her vest, and Yaz winces as she pulls it out, calling out to receive the information which surely means she will be whizzing off across Sheffield in a few short minutes.

 _“Report of someone stealing from the steel warehouses, PC Khan respond.”_ The voice on the other end of the radio speaks.

Yaz speaks back into it. “Receiving. Responding now.” She grabs her hat and rises from her chair, remembering at last minute to log off of her computer search. “Any information on the suspect?”

_“We have reports of a female. Caucasian.”_

Oh, Yaz thinks she knows who that might be.

She fights to keep the smile off her face as she strides out of her office, sending a wave in Nigel’s direction, as she responds to the report. “Copy that. Responding.”

Her failed attempts to find any leads is soon pushed to the back of her mind in light of seeing Jennifer once again. 

* * *

The warehouse section of the city is… well, in one word, _steely._ Metallic warehouses tower over Yaz’s patrol car as she pulls into the area, passing metal fences and machinery used for lugging great weights. The place is near-deserted, being the evening almost all of the tradesmen have retreated to their homes, but there are some lights on, and it is soon enough Yaz finds the person to call in the report of a woman stealing- she is fairly sure it is Jennifer. The man gruffly points her in the direction of a small dumping site near a sector of small warehouses, and Yaz fights not to roll her eyes when the man offers to accompany her to the area, sighting her being a ‘young lass.’

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” Yaz says, closing her car door behind her and pulling her torch from her vest. She does not glance back at him once before she heads off in the direction that he had pointed her in.

The light fades as Yaz shuffles through the small places between the warehouses, little alleyways littered with discarded bits of metal plating or screws and wires, along with the occasional plant bursting through the concrete. When she opens up onto the fenced grassy section behind the warehouses, nature polluted with racks of old wires and metal sheeting, with a huge old container filled with who knows what and a metal frame which must have been used to store something big, possibly cars. It towers over a figure who is rooting around in piles of old metal which pile in small molehills amongst the overgrown, uncared for grass, cast in silhouette by the low-light, the site being illuminated only by a large light from one of the warehouses. Jennifer.

Yaz notices there is a small gap in the fencing where the bottom has come free from the ground and someone has pulled it and crawled under and she sighs, fighting to keep the smirk off her face at Jennifer’s cunning. She stows her torch in her vest once again and manoeuvres herself and down and crawls under the fence, grunting slightly as her chest bumps against the ground, a bit more cumbersome with the added bulk of her uniform.

Once on the other side, Yaz drags herself upwards and lets out a long breath, a bit puffed. After a moment regaining her composure, she moves closer to where Jennifer is still rifling through the rubbish heaps, none the wiser to Yaz’s presence, and planting her feet comfortably on the ground, she coughs loudly.

Metal clangs against metal as Jennifer suddenly shoots upwards, metal pipe in her hand, raised in self-defence. Yaz puts her hands up instinctively to show she is not a threat, but when Jennifer’s eyes rest on Yaz recognition floods into them and she instantly relaxes, letting her arms drop to her side, the metal pipe clanging as she drops it onto the heap.

“Oh, Yaz.” Jennifer says on an outbreath, sounding relieved.

Yaz winces and steps forwards. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Jennifer waves away her apology, letting out a long breath and letting her head tip back to face the night sky. The illumination from the overhead light casts her thin face into pale effect, making her cheekbones look even more prominent. She sniffs and turns to look at Yaz, her voice tired when she asks, “What you doing here?”

“Got a call in, a woman supposedly stealing.” Yaz says with a teasing tone, raising an eyebrow.

Jennifer huffs, shaking her head. “I’m not stealing!... Alright, fine, I am, but- agh!” She exclaims, and rips her beanie from her head, running a hand through her hair. Her shoulders are tense, her face in shadow as it dips to stare at her feet as she breathes heavily, and Yaz’s shackles raise as she realises something other than relative irritation at the situation is at play here.

She takes another step forwards. “Hey, what’s up?”

Two weeks of letting Yaz in and Yaz herself feels comfortable in asking in a casual yet concerned manner what the problem seems to be. If she thinks too hard about how odd that is, how that would have barely been possible with the Doctor, it sends her head spinning. Best to just keep on in the moment.

Jennifer lets out a ragged sigh, and then another one, and Yaz takes another step forward as concern starts to set in deep. Jennifer’s hand is still twisted in her hair, and her grip tightens as she shakes her head and clenches her eyes shut tight.

“Sorry, Yaz. I just-” She begins, but a sob catches in her throat and she cannot finish her sentence. Yaz moves forward instinctively, guiding Jennifer with a hand away from the mound of rubbish and metal scraps and towards the large abandoned frame, which offers them a flat perch on which to sit.

“S’alright.” She says. “Let’s sit here.”

She guides Jennifer down, plonking down on the metal next to her. It is horribly cold at first, even through her trousers, but Yaz turns her attention to the woman next to her, still keeping a hold of her arm.

Jennifer sniffs, using her beanie to wipe away her tears. She glances in Yaz’s direction. “You must get sick of this. Me being a headcase.”

“Never.” Yaz replies instantly, pained to hear the other woman talk about herself so. “Don’t be daft. No shame in admitting you’re struggling. Do you want to talk about it….?”

Jennifer sniffs again, wringing her beanie in her hands.

“Can be good to get these things out in the open, rather than keeping them all in…” Yaz prompts, trying desperately not to be pushy, but so eager to show this woman there is no need to hide anything. Anything at all.

Jennifer considers this, mouth squirming like an eel, cheeks pinched. She looks as bedraggled as ever, and concern shoots through Yaz like a dagger. She is desperate to get the other woman somewhere more stable, but the slow and steady road is working, and she hopes that in the stability, step by step, she might be working towards something better than a cabin in the woods.

Eventually, Jennifer sighs, and in the half-lit gloom of a scrap metal waste tip, she begins to speak. “I just feel…. Frustrated. Frustrated I can’t remember, frustrated that I keep feeling all these emotions and I just _don’t know_ where they come from. I woke up this morning feeling so… heavy. It’s like everything is just bubbling under the surface. All I cannot reach and cannot do has transformed itself into this simmering mix of emotions.” Jennifer says, hands moving, churning in circles emphatically to the churning of emotions in inside of her.

Yaz nods understandingly, very familiar herself with how tormented one can feel by all they are feeling with no way to ground themselves, battered by the storm, near toppling over. “Can you try and explain it to me a little better? You said you felt frustrated, but is there anything else you feel, that is making you feel so heavy?”

A hand curls into Jennifer’s hair as she leans her elbow on her knee, considering. Her face is scrunched up both in thought and mental pain, although perhaps her near-healed ribs still smart a little after her rigorous activity. “The heaviness, it’s like I’m carrying this burden of loss. It feels like grief, like something’s been torn from me. I wonder if it’s everything that’s fallen out of my head, the life I don’t remember, who and what I was before this, but… I don’t know, it feels deeper, like I’ve lost something, or someone…..”

Yaz sucks in a breath, hands curling into fists where they rest on her thighs.

“I have flashes of memory, flashes of fire and smoke and this stench of _burning_ in the back of my nostrils, sometimes, when I wake.” Jennifer says, eyes staring into the far distance, gaze even further away, galaxies away. “The cold, it… it reminds me of something, too. It’s not just unpleasant because of what it _is,_ but it’s like I’ve known coldness like it before. It’s odd. I just don’t know what it could be. I just thought…” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Just thought what?” Yaz prompts her gently. Flashes of fire in her memory… Yaz can only think of Gallifrey, the Doctor’s homeland, so far from what Yaz had expected, in rubble and ruin, a desolate plain where ashes and embers had laid their bed, settling comfortably over a destroyed civilization. Yaz had always suspected, of course she had, that _that_ is what had upset the Doctor after the Master’s first appearance, especially when the man had reappeared at the boundary, as Ryan had recounted; the destruction was his doing, and the Doctor had been mourning since that time and hiding that grief from them vociferously. Seeing it now, the distance in Jennifer’s eyes, the tight grip of her hand in her hair, the slump to her shoulders…. It is painful in perceiving, but like sucking a sour lemon it is also refreshing, to finally properly see it, unfiltered, exposed, bared for Yaz because she trusts in Yaz to see it.

Yaz wonders what this coldness is about, and her mind strays already to a possibility, pointing at it as if to say, ‘don’t you think this might be the answer?’. The Doctor returned in the Tardis battered and weary and Yaz could smell the chill on her, catching at her clothes, in her hair. The prison, this elusive place which remains in Yaz’s mind a half-formed pit of misery. Seeing the effects of it now in Jennifer… Yaz shudders herself in sympathy and horror.

Jennifer shrugs, hand moving from her chin to run over her mouth. “I think maybe I lost someone in the fire. Perhaps that is where I lost my memories, too. Maybe it was an accident….”

Yaz nods distractedly. _You lost yourself in that fire from the first. The person I knew, anyway. Or maybe I didn’t really know you at all._

The Doctor’s impossibilities had turned tinged at the edges with black soot, charred by the fires of Gallifrey into something a little less extraordinary and something a little bit to be feared. Small truths parted with, a confessions to thousands of years worth of life, and Yaz had been set to wonder in lonely hours on the Tardis just what the Doctor was not telling them, what she hid within exciting possibilities, keeping them close to her chest. Complexities, an enigma Yaz has longed to know in all its forms, had been deprived the chance of, but now… Jennifer cannot divulge secrets she does not remember, but she can share her own heart. Singular. The human touch. Sharing might come easier now she perceives them to be on the same level of understanding.

“I feel lonely.” Jennifer admits, finality in her tone, tears in her eyes, still staring distantly. Her tears reflect the light beaming down on them, and they blot her face like pearls of white. “Not just because I think I lost someone. _Something. Myself._ But… it’s like there’s no one else out there like me. No one this… of a mess.” She turns to Yaz with a self-depreciatingly laugh, rough and coarse on her throat. “I feel so out of place.”

Yaz wonders if this is how the Doctor felt, if this is not just borne from Jennifer’s disorientation. She had said, when they had first met, that she had no family, _not anymore,_ and, following the destruction of Gallifrey, this pain must have been increased tenfold. The destruction of Gallifrey _twice_ over, Yaz realises, the planet lost to a small hand grenade, sacrificed to eradicate a monstrous army and its monstrous leader. How would she feel, stuck in a cramped prison cell, with all of that swirling in her brain, the smoke after the destruction lingering in the memory? Lonely. So incredibly lonely, she realises. And what is more, lonely in feeling. For she had not disclosed so much to them, whilst they had travelled together, that it must have chilled her bones with despair and set her limbs aching with solitude. If it were the Doctor sat next to her now, Yaz thinks she might have shaken her with frustration, said words along the lines of ‘ _talk to us! Bear your pain!’,_ followed swiftly with the comfort she has always longed to give the other woman. But, this is Jennifer, and Jennifer has just bared herself in an incredibly vulnerable state to Yaz, and there is only one route forward Yaz knows she can and should take… respect and comfort.

“You’re not out of place.” She says to the other woman, and on a wave of courage, that cape of confidence secure, now, around her shoulders, not budging, she reaches forwards and takes Jennifer’s free hand in her own. It is cold and trembling slightly, and Yaz tries to transfer some of her warmth to the other woman, doing the same with her words. “And… you don’t have to be alone. I’m here now, if you want me.”

Jennifer watches her with surprise and wonder, eyes tracking over Yaz’s face. There are tears glistening in her eyes, and one traces a lonely track down her face. Caught up in the moment, her movement delicate, almost moving without her being conscious of it, Yaz raises her hand to Jennifer’s face and wipes the tear away with her thumb. Jennifer stiffens for a millisecond before she relaxes into the motion, touch-starved body seeking out reassurance. Her hand in Yaz’s tightens.

“Hey.” Yaz breathes, as soft as a summer wind, when more tears follow that first, coming full charge now in their assault. “You’re not alone.”

Jennifer sniffs, her eyes falling shut as she wills her tears to stop. Yaz lets her thumb wipe away the few remaining tears that fall, but after a while, Yaz could not say for sure how long, caught up in the moment as she is, barely believing this is happening, they stop. Jennifer raises her head and Yaz drops her hand back to her lap. The other woman shoots her a grateful smile, looking a little bashful.

In the light of Jennifer’s exposure, Yaz tries to find her own voice, share her own feelings. “I lost someone.” She begins, her mouth suddenly as dry as the pages of the notebook stowed in her inside pocket, not yet stained and wetted with ink to spill memories in. “I’d… she was amazing, she’d shown me some incredible things, made me feel better about myself, how strong I am, what I can do, ‘bout what I’m doing here, on- in Sheffield.”

Yaz had almost said ‘on Earth’, then. She is still tripping a little on the hem of her verbal discretion.

“Is this the woman you were talking about before?” Jennifer asks her, body turning to face Yaz. “The one you travelled with?”

Yaz nods. If Yaz’s words bring any remembrance to Jennifer, she does not show it, and Yaz feels sure in the sincerity of the obliviousness on her face now.

“Yeah, she, umm…. Well, she disappeared, suddenly. I’ve no idea where she is, how I can reach her… I miss her.” Yaz says, lump in her throat, pushing past the oddness of this situation, speaking to the woman in question when she has no idea that she is the subject of Yaz’s… emotion. “I wish I could have helped her more. She was… there was a lot she didn’t say, but I could see it… I wish I could have been the person she could open up to, could have returned the favour for all she had done for me, as it were.”

“Oh Yaz.” Jennifer says breathlessly. “I’m sorry.”

Yaz swallows past the lump in her throat which feels heavy with guilt and sorrow and regret and frustration, tinged bitter with irony and a sardonic mirth. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Maybe we’re all just looking to not be alone.” Jennifer ponders, fingers twitching in Yaz’s. “That’s the overriding feeling I’ve had. A desperate need not to be alone.”

Yaz looks at her out of the corner of her eyes, the wistfulness, the perception, a sharpness in Jennifer’s eyes she has not often seen. It reminds her of the Doctor, how her years had brought her experiences which had shaped her understandings. It makes her realise the depth of her words, the shocking truth of them…. this is not just Jennifer who is alone, but the woman she was before. Yaz’s breath stutters out of her, and she places her other hand over their joined ones, squeezing tight.

Jennifer looks down at their hands, a small frown on her face as she considers them. When she looks up at Yaz, meeting her eyes, there is a warmth which soothes Yaz as they sit on cold metal on a freezing autumn evening, and she inhales sharply. “I know I’m probably a poor replacement for whoever this woman was, Yaz, but you don’t have to be alone, either.”

Yaz fights to keep tears from welling in her eyes, overcome with everything such a statement infers and states. She shakes her head slightly in amazement. This support and baring of souls she has been longing for, had thought out of reach, and has only come about through seriously horrendous circumstances. All of this Jennifer is not aware of, and her offer is innocent, if genuine, the light and warmth in her eyes refreshingly honest. It reminds Yaz of the very first months of her travels with the Doctor, before the bang of a plane being bombed and a planet destroyed, when the Doctor had looked at her with a softness, a sentimentality. Except this is even better, she realises, and bites back guilt that this sudden swooping amazement and joy has come at the Doctor’s detriment, this is better as Jennifer is sharing with her, _too._ She does not just care for Yaz but seemingly she wants Yaz to care for her.

_A desperate need not to be alone._

She shoves guilt down, not wanting nor needing its chilly hand wrapping around her lungs when they are already surrounded by frost and a growing layer of ice over the ground, and cherishes this, cherishes Jennifer for what she is- a consequence, but fully formed in her own right from those consequences. And lonely, so lonely, as Yaz has been…. Why wouldn’t she fall into the other woman and let her fall into Yaz herself in turn? She is not doing this to seek out some sense of self-worth, some sense of ‘the Doctor is finally finding comfort in me and comforting me in turn, like I have always wanted, therefore I should take this little snippet’, no- she is doing this because she is growing to like Jennifer, and Jennifer’s choice was to turn to her and it is Jennifer who Yaz is growing closer to.

“Thank you.” She says, voice croaking, as if it too is barely believing the words she is speaking and the context in which they are spoke.

Jennifer smiles widely, despite her haggard appearance, the physical manifestation of all she is going through. “I’m so grateful for you, Yasmin Khan.”

Yaz cannot hide the surprise she feels. “You are?”

Jennifer pulls a face of indignation. “’Course I am! The amount of judgement and hate I’ve received in past few weeks, and then you come along. I were so fixated on those men’s attack that I didn’t think about what came after…. You!”

Yaz cringes at the mention of the still elusive men. “About that…”

“Don’t worry ‘bout those blokes, they don’t scare me, not anymore.” Jennifer insists, leaning in even closer, allowing her head to drop from her fist so that her hair swings down to cover the bright light from the warehouses. It allows Yaz to see her even better without the glare, and she can make out the swirling colours in her irises, the swirling emotions. Her eyes look clearer, of thought and coherency, than since Yaz has met her. “And I’m starting to feel less afraid of all I do not know, knowing that I am not so alone anymore.”

 _Less afraid of all I do not know._ Yaz can sympathise with that. What they have shared and expressed has not answered questions that Yaz has been pondering for months, not sated a curiosity which has driven concern for feelings, but it has soothed the irritation and pain of not being let in, of exposing wounds to the air and airing concerns and feelings in turn.

She allows herself to smile. “Me neither.”

They look at each other for a long minute, taking the other in in their turn, and Yaz’s stomach churns with nerves and a sense of… anticipation, a daunting unknown in front of her. What is Jennifer thinking, to be looking at her like that?

A moment later, and Yaz’s anticipation and curiosity is broken, and Jennifer pulls away, letting out a long breath which plumes in clouds in the cold air. her eyes close briefly, and Yaz takes that moment to compose her own self, pull away from feelings of curiosity and… oh, oh dear… a very small flicker of hope at what that warmth in Jennifer’s eyes had meant.

No. _We are not going there, Khan,_ she tells herself.

To distract herself and to follow through on her promise to help Jennifer, Yaz fumbles around in the inside of her jacket, past the layers of the vest, eventually pulling out the small notebook with biro shoved into the metal spiral. She has to let go of Jennifer’s hands to do so, and the shock of cold afterwards is noticeable. “Here,” She says, holding it out to Jennifer, who looks at it in confusion. “A friend of mine, he… he knows some stuff, ‘bout memory loss.” She lies, and then quickly goes to reassure. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him much, but… he suggested that writing down what you can remember, even if it’s something miniscule, might help your memory retrieval overall. Might help things come back a little easier. Might help you make sense of what is going up there.”

Yaz is not sure what compels her to do it, but as she says ‘there’, she pokes very lightly at Jennifer’s forehead. The other woman laughs, and the sound is so precious and rare Yaz treasures it. She made that happen. Her.

“You don’t have to take it.” Yaz says with a shrug. “It just seemed like a…”

“No, no, I get it.” Jennifer assures her and reaches out to take hold of the notebook. Their fingers brush as she does. She runs her fingers over the cover. It is only a cheap print, nothing special in any way, but the movement of her hand is gentle, considering. Jennifer looks to Yaz, shooting her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Yaz.”

Yaz nods, and returns the smile with one of her own, watching as Jennifer carefully tucks notebook and pen into her pocket. It is quite remarkable it fits. _They must be bigger on the inside,_ Yaz thinks wistfully.

Jennifer bites her lip, eyes flickering over the rubbish tip in front of them, and after a moment’s hesitations she says, “You know what I find a good way of trying to work through emotions? Other than trying to make things?”

“What?” Yaz asks her, watching in confusion as the other woman grins with glee.

“The opposite.”

“Huh?” Yaz says as the other woman rises, searching around her for something amongst the piles of rubbish. After a few moments she gives a triumphant ‘aha!’ and bends down to pick up two lengths of pipe, about the length of a cricket bat. She holds one out to Yaz, who takes it, standing up on stiff legs.

“There’s a load of old monitors and TVs back here.” Jennifer says, gesturing with her free hand to the massive container. “Perfect pickings.”

Yaz makes the connection as she follows the other woman over to the container. Jennifer shoves her own pipe into Yaz’s hands as she heads inside of it. Yaz can hear her moving around, the scarping of objects against the floor, reverberating in metal shell. “Oh, what, you mean _smash it up?”_

“Exactly!” Jennifer calls from inside the container.

Responsibility bites at Yaz’s ankles, weighs her down in her police vest. She is on duty, she should be heading off now to patrol Sheffield’s streets, but… this is just too good a chance to miss, and Jennifer is very excited, staggering out of the container with TV set in hand, big and bulky, an old model, and Yaz throws caution to the wind and takes the set off of her, throwing herself into it. This is cathartic, and right now Yaz could use a bit of that.

Jennifer makes short work of pulling another TV from the container, and she directs Yaz to place them down on a flat expanse of ground, green shoots bursting through crumbling concrete. She pulls back, hand drifting to her side briefly as her near-healed ribs still smart, and then reaches out to take her piping from Yaz.

“Okay. All your worries, all your fear, how _angry_ that makes you.” She says, adjusting her grip on the pipe as she evaluates the TV like Yaz has seen the Doctor stare down many foes before. “Put it all into this.”

Yaz takes her position mirroring Jennifer on her right-hand side, and in the half-light of the junkyard their pipes glint in a menacing way. Yaz stabilises her footing, doing as Jennifer instructed, thinking of all she has felt, all that has torn her down and she has fought against to build herself back up again. She swings the pipe back, stepping backwards, mindful of anything hitting her face, and prepares to attack.

Jennifer glances her way. “Ready?”

Yaz nods determinedly. “Ready.”

Their pipes swing in synchronicity and hit their targets with a fantastic _smash!_

It is exhilarating, and Yaz feels adrenaline shoot through her body with every hit to the television. She screen goes first, and then Yaz is pushing forth into its innards and ripping apart wires and circuit boards and then the plastic casing itself, which breaks apart in brittle pieces, like the brittle pieces of Yaz’s patience for all she has been put through by traitorous emotions. All the pain she has felt, now translated into physical energy, leaving her lighter with each hit. It is one of the most freeing and also one of the most bizarre things she has done: smashing up a television with a woman who is forming from the shattered parts of a friend left behind, coming together in a different form, but no less fascinating than its previous, just… different.

And different isn’t a bad thing.

And neither is smashing up a telly when you really should be on duty to get your feelings out in a physical manner.

The man who had called Jennifer in to the police’s curious face peers around one of the warehouses, and his voice raises. “You alright?”

Yaz turns, Jennifer still smashing to pieces the glass screen of her television. “Fine!” She calls back, irritation at his nosiness followed swiftly by the odd glee filling her from the exhilaration. She gestures in Jennifer’s direction. “Community service!”

The man frowns, but when Yaz replies no more he tuts and wanders off. Yaz glances to Jennifer and they share a snigger before they both return to their task.

Yaz finishes before Jennifer, her television in piece on the floor as her heavy heart feels fuller than it has in a long while. She steps back, letting the pipe drop from her hands as she breathes out, surveying the scene the woman next to her has created. Jennifer’s television is even more battered and broken than Yaz’s, the woman still furiously hitting at it, the plastic remains, scattered into the earth. Yaz almost calls out to tell her to stop, concerned the woman might hurt herself, but Jennifer relents just before she does, throwing her head back with a sigh and throwing the pipe away from her, breathing heavily into the icy air.

They stand in silence for a moment, both of them getting their composure back, until Jennifer glances Yaz’s way. The pain in her eyes is evident, but she looks calmer and more at peace with her pain than she had when Yaz had arrived.

“I should do that more often.” Yaz quips, and Jennifer laughs shortly and abruptly, letting her head dip down to the ground.

“Nice to break something, when you get tired of fixing things.” Jennifer remarks, her words alluding to deeper meaning, but Yaz leaves it at that, she understands what the woman is trying to say, and she has demonstrated to her that she will be by her side as she fights her demons, and shown also that Yaz does not mind the other woman being there for her whilst she fights her own.

“Come on.” Yaz says, gesturing back towards the warehouses. “I’ll give you a lift back if you’re done here?”

Jennifer nods, and the two woman trudge away, shards of glass and plastic crunching under their feet, the broken remains of their pain as their connection grows stronger, as the two of them form friendship from the remains of what once. It feels easier, now, somehow. And there is something else growing, within the remains of Yaz’s heart, slowing knitting itself back together, another thing heals and grows into a new bud, blossoming slowly, Yaz familiar with the feeling but very much daunted by the warmth. It is something which pulls her closer to Jennifer, as Jennifer becomes more solid to her, takes root in her heart and mind as Yaz’s friend. And from those roots something grows. Something which Yaz knows there is a label for, but she is wary to place a name to.

And so, she lets it grow, wild and untampered with, and prays she will not pay the consequences for letting it flourish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the comments so far- I will get to them asap, just have a lot going on right now so can't reply to them right now, but they are greatly appreciated 😊
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	8. Shaded Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this one, this story is quite complex and there's a lot to think about so it takes a while to write, and with other things going on... plus I'm such a perfectionist I'd rather take the time getting it out to you the best it can be! Having said that it's late and I haven't really read it through so apologies for any typos! 
> 
> I'll do a quick recap here of the last chapter seeing as it's been so long: yaz is growing closer to Jennifer as she begins to see the woman not just as what is left of the Doctor but another variant of her, just as complicated and also just as intriguing to Yaz, and she finds herself growing feelings for the woman... they smash some TVs up together and work through their grief, Yaz giving Jennifer an old mobile phone and a notebook for her to write down her nightmares and thoughts when they become so overwhelming 
> 
> On with it! Enjoy! I hope the length makes up for the wait!

Yaz is too exhilarated to care whether she tells Ryan or not after their meeting in the junkyard, and she meets him, almost perky in demeanour, after his lecture the following afternoon, feeling rested after her nightshift, filled with adrenaline from slacking off and not getting caught. Everything feels easier to carry now her and Jennifer have smashed through some barriers and smashed through some televisions and in doing so have bonded through their pains, their shared pains, although Jennifer does not know that.

When Ryan meets her, he seems slightly taken aback by Yaz’s cheeriness, a little bleary-eyed from his lecture, and it takes him a moment to understand what she is telling him, and when he does, he is apprehensive.

“Yaz, mate, do you think this is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean getting closer to her in this form. I know we’ve got to keep a look out for her, and befriending her is the best way to do it, but… is it good for _you?_ ”

“It is, Ryan.” Yaz insists, but he still looks doubtful.

“But it’s just… she’s not the Doctor, Yaz, she’s just what’s left.”

“That’s not true, Ryan, I know it’s not. I thought that before, at first, until I got to know her, and I realised she’s not worse because she’s changed, different from what she is…. but that’s she’s actually really great as she is.”

“But the one pulse, thing, Yaz, obviously she thinks she’s human, don’t you think there’s been some meddling there or something?” Ryan questions. “Is she _really_ the Doctor?”

Yaz thinks about this for a moment, thinks of what she has seen from Jennifer; it is as she says, a shade, but not a separate entity. All of her is the Doctor, just in another form. “It is her, Ryan. You should meet her, I think. You and Graham. You’ll see. Even though she’s a little different you’ll see it’s the same personality, the same characteristics, all that stuff what makes you up.”

“Except her memories and a missing heart.” Ryan mutters.

“But we’re working on that! Yaz replies. “She’s got the notebook, we’re looking out for the Tardis. We’re not…it’s not like she’s _it,_ we’re still trying, why not make the most of the time with her before or _if_ we do find a way to solve all of this?”

When Ryan still looks unsure Yaz brings them to a stop by one of the university shops. Students and staff stream pass them, unbothered by the heavy conversation taking place. Yaz looks up at Ryan, forcing him to meet her gaze, to see the sincerity in her eyes. “It’s helping me cope, Ryan.” Yaz insists with a tone of finality. “If she’s- if she’s all we ever have left of her, this is more than I could have asked for. She’s not just a shadow. She’s actually a person. Seeing it that way is making all this so much better for me so please don’t question that.”

“Alright.” Ryan says, hands raised in defeat, tone softer as he understands. Yaz feels a little bad for being short with him; they have all lost the Doctor, after all. She smiles apologetically, but Ryan does not look offended, just concerned. He lightly shoves her arm in a brotherly gesture of affection. “Just worry ‘bout you is all. It’s no fun all this not knowing.”

“No,” Yaz agrees. “But she is making it better. I’m not in denial or anything like that. In fact, I feel better than ever about this. Maybe you’ll see that when you meet her.” 

* * *

Despite Yaz’s best efforts, Ryan does not quite see things as she does.

The thing is… he has been annoyed at the Doctor for quite a while now.

He knows this is not her fault, not directly, she did not ask to be mind-wiped and dumped on them like this, but he feels that a lot of the pain the three of them are going through, particularly Yaz, could have been avoided had she not confided in them more, allowed them to be a family in more than just odd epithet. Well, Ryan is not one to talk about functional families, but…. What he has always wanted, he thinks, from a ‘family’, is that sense of no-nonsense; never being deceived, always being open and honest with each other, not suffering fools. For Ryan has suffered fools since his early days, since his dad who said he would be there but then was nearly always absent. And in a way it is paradoxical: the Doctor and their adventures have helped him grow so much, so that now he knows what he wants from a family, knows not to put up with lies and nonsense, and yet in turn she has been serving it to him on a silver platter, for whatever reasons.

As he strides towards the engineering labs, notebook worth of scribbles on his assignment, the deadline for which is drawing nearer as they crawl closer to the end of the first semester, Ryan lets out a long breath and allows his sudden irritation to travel through him and simmer down, settling just under his skin until with a few more steadying breaths it is gone. Perhaps it is the falsity of ‘Jennifer’ which is bugging him also; he is happy to see Yaz less conflicted and a lot happier, but at the same time he is wary of her getting her feelings hurt when to him ‘Jennifer’ seems to be manifested of too many mysteries for him to take it sitting down she is ‘simply’ a mind-wiped version of the Doctor. How come she only has one pulse, for instance? There is something fishy going on past the Doctor’s amnesia, and Ryan does not like it one bit; he is being played for the fool again, only this time the Doctor cannot, it seems, actively give him the truth, for she does not remember it.

There is so much they do not know, so much the Doctor had not told them which had underlined her passion and commitment to revealing the beauty of the universe, for always doing good, had put a scowl on her face and closed off her hearts to them. In fact, Ryan had realised as her happy face began to unravel after the Master’s first appearance, they had all taken for granted that they knew her; seen her, essentially, as a more quirky, alien version of themselves. But to learn she is thousands of years old, to wonder what secrets she has kept from them, evident in the cold response to their questioning of exactly who she is… They know nothing. And this is even worse, this is nothing on top of nothing, mystery after mystery. Yaz is trying to help ‘Jennifer’ with working with the emotional ramifications of all they do not know, but that does not take away the fact that there obviously bigger things at stake here, and whether or not they will know them remains annoyingly elusive for now.

So, Ryan supposes, striding through the automatic doors and into the lab building, all they can do is their best, and Yaz is certainly doing that, and he is so proud of her for that, but it is still frustrating to not know what is really going on, to be fools through no fault of their own…. Ryan had thought perhaps it was his fault at first, when the Doctor had been closed off from them, insecurities about his dad pushing to the front of his mind and forcing worries upon him, but now… now he is stronger, that paradoxical irony of his travels with the Doctor coming to his mind again as he strides up the stairs towards the lab, and knows there is only so much you can help someone.

He hopes Yaz remembers that, too, as she finds ‘peace’, he supposes you could call it, with Jennifer. He hopes as well that she might keep in mind that there is no guarantee this woman will be as much as the Doctor, is her own person, as Yaz seems to think she is… there are too many unknowns, and they make Ryan agitated. He hates feeling the fool.

So caught up in his thoughts is he, that Ryan has to do a double take at the figure seated at one of the desks in the lab when he pushes open the door. He thinks he is imagining her for a moment, springing from his thoughts into his vision, but he blinks and- no, she is still there, glancing to him warily, tensing her shoulders, looking bedraggled and poorly dressed compared to her usual self.

The Doctor.

Or, rather, Jennifer.

Ryan stares for a moment before he catches himself doing it and he clears his throat, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind him. “Hi.” He greets her.

“Errm… hi.” She greets back, swallowing as she watches him stride over to a desk on the other side of the room. “I’m not….”

Ryan realises, slow on the uptake owing to the surprise of seeing her, that she should not be here, and perhaps that is why she is so wary of him. It is weird to see no recognition in her eyes, and he feels a pang in his stomach at the thought.

He waves a hand at her in supplication, “Ah, nah, don’t worry ‘bout it…”

Really, he should be informing the university that she has broken in ( _how did she do that?_ He thinks) but he is so shocked and intrigued, finally coming face to face to her after weeks of hearing how she is from Yaz, that all he can do is pull out his own stool and slump down into it, pretending not to be glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Jennifer seems to regard him with worry for a moment more before she turns back to whatever it is that she is working on. Ryan can see she has some rough notes by her side, and is working with a screwdriver on some metal sort of contraption. She looks so much like her normal self that Ryan finds himself reeling once more.

It is incredibly awkward as they work in silence, Ryan’s concentration shot now that she is sat on the opposite side of the room to him; he wonders whether he should say anything, it feels like he should, but of course she has no clue who he is so would not expect him to say anything, but it feels stupid to pass by this chance when suddenly and unexpectedly they are alone together.

After about twenty minutes or so, Ryan lets out a small irritated groan and shoves his papers away from him, discarding his pen on the desk. This assignment is driving him bonkers.

Jennifer glances his way at his annoyed huff, and she hesitates for a moment before asking him, “Anything I could help with?”

Ryan looks to her in surprise, eyebrows raised. From what Yaz had told him, and from her wide-eyed stare when he had entered, he had assumed the woman would stay well away from him, too wary for anything but staring, but here she is, trying to engage with him. This can only be a good thing, right? Ryan hopes it is and clears his throat, throwing a bashful smile her way. “Ah, nah, I mean, you’ve got your own stuff to be working on.”

“I don’t mind.” Jennifer tells him, straightening a little on her stool, putting down her screwdriver. “I sort of owe you, anyway, for not ratting on me.”

Ryan gapes and hesitates for a second more before he nods and says, “Err, yeah, alright then. Thanks.”

Jennifer shoots him a small smile and slides from her stall, heading over to his workbench. She pulls up another stool and sits next to him, a few feet away. She leans her forearms on the desk’s surface. “So, what you workin’ on?” 

“Err, it’s this assignment I’ve got due in, s’bout generating the maximum amount of energy without the use of polluting emissions. I’m working on an engine sort of thing for it.” Ryan explains, and Jennifer nods, eyes skating over his plans. Whilst she is preoccupied with those, Ryan takes her in properly. She is thinner, that much he can see from just her face and how her cheeks are more sunken than they ever have been, and her hair, covered mainly by a navy blue beanie hat, looks longer and more bedraggled. Her face is pale, too, and she looks exhausted, and images come to the forefront of Ryan’s mind of what her small little cabin, as Yaz has described to him, might look like, and he shivers to think of her there in this growing ever-colder climate. It is not right to see her like this; at least in her misery the Doctor had had her bright clothes and the comfort of her portable home to keep her looking, on the outside, put together, but now she looks a mess, and it sits unpleasantly within Ryan to see it.

He is starting to understand a little better how Yaz has been feeling.

“Ah! I see what you’ve done here.” Jennifer suddenly exclaims, pointing out something on his diagram. “You need to change this bit here- do you have a pencil?”

“Err, yeah, yeah sure,” Ryan says, digging within his pencil case and pulling out a mechanical pencil, and Jennifer takes it and begins to scribble down frantically on his diagram. It is so much like the Doctor it is painful, and Ryan sucks in a sharp breath.

Jennifer glances over at him, suddenly catching herself. “Oh… is this alright?” She asks, indicating to her labour.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, please, I really appreciate it.” Ryan says to her, leaning back a little to watch her work. To watch her, to take her in, to wrap his head around it all.

Fifteen minutes later and she has helped him identify what his problem is and how to fix it, and suddenly Ryan has a very promising piece of work in front of him and he shoots her a pleased grin, over the moon. Jennifer shoots him one back, looking a little calmer in talking of mechanics and engines than she has been thus far. Yaz had said she had been building something, that she told her she takes comfort in her work… he is seeing the evidence of that for himself now.

Ryan thanks her effusively for her work, and she gives him a nod and a polite, thin-lipped smile.

“It’s good.” She says. “That you’re working on this stuff. Saving the planet, and all.”

Ryan takes a deep breath, remembering why he decided to go along this route in the first place. “Well, I saw some things, made me realise how precious what we have is, how we need to preserve it for the future, before it’s too late…”

Jennifer nods, and she looks troubled, and Ryan tenses, wondering…. Only a moment later she simply says, “That’s brilliant, that is.”

Ryan cannot help but deflate a bit. He does not know what he was expecting, for her to suddenly remember something when for weeks she has not, but perhaps he had been hoping the sight of him might have clicked something in her brain, opening a door behind which her memories are locked. But… it is not to be. “Yeah.” He says. “Gotta make the most of what I’ve got, you know?”

After a moment, however, Jennifer’s gaze becomes distant, and she stares off into the middle distance, saying, almost wistfully, “Sometimes it feels like there’s so much destruction that things might never recover, might never be more than just rubble and ash.”

Ryan swallows, flashes of Gallifrey, in ruins, smoking in its desolation, come to the forefront of his mind. Jennifer looks… upset, more upset than she might be talking about Earth, as if she cannot help but feel a pain she does not remember. It makes Ryan feels icy cold from the inside out.

“And you’re helpless to do anything, weren’t there to stop it…” Jennifer says, still wistful, but the she blinks, and when she looks to Ryan her eyes are still dark with thoughts, but they are not pained. “But it’s people like you that give me hope. Hope that you can make positive change, know what to do.”

Ryan swallows down his emotion, giving himself a chance to conjure something to say by waving off her compliment. “Nah, it’s just… it’s just right, you know? Nothing heroic in it.”

“But the changes you’re making now, they’ll be crucial.” Jennifer replies. “Don’t downplay them, don’t think your work isn’t appreciated or significant.”

“Mate, it’s just a uni assignment.” Ryan tries to appease her, but he can see she is getting more passionate, worked up by it all like the Doctor would be when she became all prophetic on them. He leans back a little more on his stool.

“But it’s a seed. A seed of change.” Jennifer presses. “You need to make sure it grows into something before it is forgotten beneath the soil.” She flinches then, and Ryan sees her hand come up halfway towards the side of her head, where, he knows, hidden beneath her hat, are two scorch marks, on either side, from where the atrocity done to her had occurred. She continues on speaking, voice ragged, passionate. “You can’t forget, because the moment you forget is the moment it slips through your fingers, and then… There’s too much pain, it becomes unbearable.”

Ryan watches her carefully, getting the impression she is talking about more than Gallifrey now, alluding to her own memory loss, and all the ramifications of it. It is so strange, as here she is, not remembering a single thing, and yet sharing more than the Doctor had ever. Exposed.

It gives Ryan courage.

“You’re right. That is what scared me. Forgetting. Leaving people behind, not being there for them.” He admits, and Jennifer turns wide eyes his way. “I owe a lot to the people in my life that were there for me, and I didn’t want to let them down.”

Jennifer considers him for a moment, and Ryan feels brave enough to meet her gaze. It is odd, he feels a sense of equality with her that he had not felt with the Doctor. Perhaps because she is stripped of her thousands of years’ worth of experience, is as exposed as he is, perhaps even more, as she has lost herself, but not only that, Ryan also feels like there is no duplicity here, nothing concealed. Again, most likely owing to the fact that she has nothing _to_ cover up, but what she has forgotten is still having _some_ kind of effect, is troubling her, and instead of hiding that she has confided in him, a total stranger to her. Perhaps it is because it is hard for her _not_ to hide it, although from the sounds of things it took Yaz a while to get her to open up to her, but it is such a change from the Doctor that he begins to realise what Yaz means. Jennifer is in a sense her own person, the Doctor but… different, shaded with different attributes, coloured-in in different ways.

He finds he likes it.

“You hang onto that seed.” Jennifer says, and Ryan blinks, nodding at her, shooting her a small smile. She sounds wistful, tinged a little with the pain of her being, and Ryan suddenly feels so terribly sad for her, for Jennifer _and_ the Doctor.

“Well, you’ve helped with it now.” He says with a smile. “Thank you….”

“Oh, Jennifer. Smith. Jennifer Smith.” Jennifer replies when Ryan intonates she should give her name with his tone.

“Ryan Sinclair.” He says with a nod, and it is the strangest thing, but, Ryan supposes, he should be used to strange by now.

Seeing her now, her pain exposed, no defensive walls to put up, unable to help herself, essentially, Ryan wonders how heavy that pain must have sat on her, how perhaps she had not known how to express it to them; the Doctor was similar to them, but she was also very different. He remembers how hard he had found it to talk to Graham at first, the man a stranger suddenly in Ryan’s inner circle, his family, his grandma he valued so much, how long it had taken him to open up. The Doctor, he realises now, had really valued their company, but perhaps… she had found it difficult to confide in them, how to manage that kind of pain and then translate it into words… it does not make what the Doctor did any better, but he thinks perhaps he understands it a bit better.

And perhaps he understands Jennifer a bit better, too. The concept of her, her as a person… he still has his doubts, but Ryan realises how blurred the lines are, how very much she and the Doctor are mixed up. There might be meddling from something else, the dangerous thing which did this to her in the first place and dropped Yaz off on their doorstep, dazed and confused, but what he has seen here he has no doubts comes from the Doctor.

It is his friend, just different. Not a shadow, not a malicious caricature put there by someone or something which wants something out of all them ( _who knows what_ ), but the Doctor shaded different, containing all her complexities and characteristics, just carrying them differently. And Ryan finds that, after so long feeling uncomfortable and annoyed with the Doctor, that Jennifer is making him understand her, perhaps, just a little better. 

* * *

“Okay, so… maybe you had a point.” Ryan concedes when he next sees Yaz a couple of days later, both of them heading back to Graham’s after arranging to meet after university and work.

“You see?” Yaz says, hands in pockets as they cross the street from the university campus and into the residential streets. “I’m not kidding myself.”

“No, I know, Yaz, and I didn’t think you were ever. I just-” Ryan shrugs, bringing them to a stop on the corner of where one street meets another. “I guess I just had to see it for myself. Had to realise it’s not as easy as-”

“The Doctor and Not The Doctor.” Yaz finishes for him, and Ryan nods. Yaz shoots him a smile of knowing, understanding his confusion and how his head reels. She has been there and back and then there again, travelling back along that long road understanding better what they are facing. It is a difficult pill to swallow, and Yaz finds herself still staggering under the weight of what they are dealing with, but to know that Ryan now understands better what she has been trying to tell them makes it a weight shared. “I know. It’s a massive thing to get your head around. Not helped by the fact that we don’t really know what we’re doing, do we?”

“But we’re doing our best, right?” Ryan says to her. “We’re doing what we can to help, and that’s enough.”

Yaz smiles widely at him, and the two of them share a moment of almost sibling-like affection and support. She nudges him in the arm. “Exactly.”

They walk in silence for a moment, both of them lost in their heads, going over their own experiences. Yaz is waiting for Jennifer to text her back, hoping to see the woman the following day. Her heart flutters at the thought despite herself.

“She spoke to me, Yaz.” Ryan says after a moment. “She started the conversation.”

“That’s good.” Yaz says confidently, relieved. “She were so wary with me at first. If she’s opening up to you, it means she’s getting a little better.”

Ryan nods his head. A doubt makes itself known in Yaz’s brain.

“And you’re certain it wasn’t because she recognised you?” She asks him, already knowing the answer but needing the confirmation from him anyway. It is nicer, now, to have someone else to discuss this with who has also now had experience of this situation.

“Yeah. I’m sure, Yaz.” Ryan says, sounding apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She says, taking in a deep breath. “It’s what I expected. And it is good, for her, for _Jennifer_ to be more confident. To be a bit more… like herself.”

Ryan scoffs, although not unkindly, just sympathising with Yaz. “Whatever that means.”

“It means there is progress, and good progress.” Yaz concludes, nodding determinedly. “It might not be the progress we wanted, but it is the progress we have, and it’s good. Good for her. I’m glad.”

Just then, there is the sound of a car engine revving and then failing before it gives an almighty _bang!_ Louds exclamations follow after. Ryan and Yaz share a glance at each other before they go racing towards it; life with the Doctor and it is second nature to run _towards_ the trouble.

Yaz staggers to a stop suddenly as she spots who and what exactly is going on, Ryan running into her so that they both trip forwards a little. “What the-” Ryan sputters.

“Oh no.” Yaz says.

“Oh yes.” Ryan replies, eyebrows raised.

Jennifer is stood across the street from them, arms crossed over her chest as she watches two men struggling to start their car. One of them is sat at the wheel, trying the engine, whilst the other stands over the bonnet, hood popped up, fiddling with this and that. The woman looks smug, pleased, a look in her eye the Doctor used to get when she taught the bullies a lesson. Which is when Yaz realises they are on the street that she had been called to all those weeks ago, when she had first met Jennifer, and that the two men desperately trying to start the car are the two men who had held her that time, and had subsequently beaten her up as a warning. It seems she is at it again.

Worry curls up inside Yaz and she crosses the street, Ryan following quickly behind her, hoping that she can keep the situation calm, in case either one of the men decides to use physical force again. There is quite the crowd forming, residents from the houses watching from their front gardens, members of the public stopping on the street. Jennifer does not look very scared, only satisfied, and it stirs something very different in Yaz’s chest to see her like that, cockier, carrying some of the Doctor’s confidence.

“Jennifer!” She calls as they reach the pavement, and the other woman turns in surprise to Yaz.

“Oh, hi, Yaz.” She greets, turning back to watch the men continue to struggle with their car.

“What’s going on?” Yaz asks her.

Jennifer shrugs. “I might have fiddled with their engines a bit, put in a handy little device which will divert the fuel from the engine to the heating.”

“Oh, mate, that’s brilliant.” Ryan says, and Jennifer looks to him, surprised to see him there, too. He shoots her a smile as she looks between him and Yaz.

“Do you two know each ot-”

“Oi! What the _hell_ have you done to my car!” Says the man who had been bent over the bonnet, pointing a finger at Jennifer as he steps towards her. Yaz instinctively puts herself between the two of them.

“I’ll let you know if you apologise to me.” Jennifer tells the man.

“For what?” He asks, face crinkled with anger, looking a bit like a pug.

“For assaulting me.” She answers, her voice colder, angrier. Yaz feels her heart race increase even more. _Good for her._

The man’s lip curls. “We only gave you what you deserved. It were a warning. One you didn’t heed, apparently, and now you’ve gone and _messed_ with my car-”

“All completely reversable.” Jennifer interrupts. “Your car will be fine if you give me the apology I deserve.”

“How can I believe you?” The man steps forward, spitting in both Yaz and Jennifer’s faces.

“Sir, please, take a step back.” Yaz orders him in her sternest tone of voice. Ryan steps forward, too, hand raised, ready to pull the man back if needed. He is also keeping an eye on the other man, who has moved from the driver’s seat and is now rounding the vehicle to stand by his companion.

“I put that little device in place, I can dismantle it, too.” Jennifer says. “You think I would know how to assemble it and then not disassemble it?”

The man scoffs, looking towards his companion. They share a look, both men looking scandalised, cross beyond belief, but Yaz can see they are waning, can see they know it would be easier to simply apologise and get their car back in working order.

Although, one of them does suggest, “I’ll phone the police!”

“PC Khan.” Yaz says to him. “Remember me?”

The man does, she can see he does, and his lip curls at her. “I could still complain-”

“Mate, is it worth it?” Yaz asks him. “She’s asking for an apology, and if you do, she will fix your car. Let’s not make this into a bigger deal, hm? You assaulted her, did her far more harm then she’s doing you, don’t you think you could give her an apology.”

It is not protocol, not one bit, but she wants the tension diffused and the situation sorted without anyone getting hurt or arrested, most of all Jennifer. She is shocked but cannot deny secretly pleased at the woman’s actions. They are just so _her._ The going against authority, taking justice in to her own hands, and doing so in an ingenious way. It makes Jennifer even more brilliant to her, and it sends her heart and her mind reeling.

Still, that can wait, she needs to sort this first.

The men shift from foot to foot, still glowering, but eventually they concede, and Yaz nods approvingly as she steps back and allows them to apologise to Jennifer. The other woman takes it with a satisfied nod, and Yaz notices the shaky breath she takes out, the way her hands tremor a little, but she looks pleased, victorious, even.

Yaz asks Ryan to encourage the crowds to move off and get on with their business whilst she stands by Jennifer’s side as she makes short work of fixing their engine. It takes her only a few minutes, and once she is done, she nods to one of the men, who starts the engine without a problem.

“You sure you don’t want to press charges?” Yaz asks her as Jennifer wipes her hands on her trousers. “We’ve been keeping an eye out for them for weeks, if you want, we could-”

“No, it’s alright.” Jennifer tells her, her eyes bright in her pale face. “I just wanted to teach them a lesson.”

“Mate, that were amazing!” Ryan exclaims as he comes over to them, and Jennifer smiles bashfully in the face of his enthusiasm. “How did you even know how-”

Jennifer shrugs. “Just knew, somehow. Been working on it for a while now, s’kept me occupied.”

“Is that what you were doing when you were in the lab the other day?” Ryan asks her, and the woman nods. Ryan makes an exclamation of awe once again.

“Hang on.” Yaz says. “How did you know this was their car?”

“Ah.” Jennifer says in a tone of voice Yaz just _knows_ spells trouble. “Well, you remember that time you found me routing around in the bins outside your work?” When Yaz nods she goes on, looking a little apprehensive. “Well, you know how you let me sit at your desk whilst you got changed? Well, why you did, I might have swiped their information from your desk and tracked them down from there.”

Yaz should be cross, she really should, but she just cannot bring herself to be. It is exciting, exhilarating. To see this side of Jennifer, to see her surer of herself, with energy and fire within her…. Yaz is reeling, and it all she can do just to shake her head in bewilderment.

“Just… I’ll need to keep this far away from my superiors.” She finally manages to say, and she sees Jennifer relax a bit at her reaction. “If they knew…”

“I won’t tell.” Ryan says.

“And hopefully they won’t either.” Jennifer says, looking towards the two men, who are still testing their car, making sure it _really does_ work. “They’ll be handing themselves in if they do, really.”

Jennifer catches Yaz’s eyes, and Yaz can see something almost like hope for approval in them, as if she has not wanted to displease Yaz by going behind her back. If only Yaz could tell her how much this has lifted her spirits further. She smiles Jennifer’s way, and the woman smiles back, the last of the tension in her frame leaving her.

Yaz catches Ryan’s eye, then, and she realises that Jennifer does not know that they already all know each other, that she should have been surprised by Ryan’s question about them meeting in the lab the other day. Covering herself she quickly says, “Hang on, ‘in the lab’? Have you two met before?”

“Err, yeah, yeah, Jennifer was in my lab the other day, she helped me with my project.” Ryan says.

“And Ryan kindly didn’t rat on me.” Jennifer replies, looking between the two of them. “Are you two friends?”

“Yeah, have been since school.” Yaz replies. She smiles, laughing in what she hopes comes off as disbelief. “What a coincidence!”

“Yeah, odd that.” Ryan says, scratching the back of his head. He and Yaz catch eyes, and his widen, looking at her for what to say next. Yaz fumbles for a minute, head still reeling from the events of the last ten minutes, before an idea comes to her. Oh, she hopes Jennifer says yes.

“Actually, me and Ryan were just off to his grandad’s if you wanted to join us?” Yaz asks Jennifer, whose eyes widen in uncertainty.

“Yeah, he makes a cracking lasagne, and he wouldn’t mind.” Ryan says, and Yaz shoots him a grateful smile.

“Oh, I’m not sure, I wouldn’t want to be intruding.” Jennifer says, looking apprehensive.

“It’s no bother, really.” Ryan says. “Call it a thank you for helping me out the other day.”

Jennifer looks to Yaz, still looking uncertain, but Yaz can see the thought of a warm meal in a warm house is appealing to her. Yaz shoots her a kind smile. “It will be really chill, but don’t feel like you have to.”

Jennifer hesitates for a moment more before she finally nods, slowly. “…Alright.”

Yaz’s heart swells with happiness, and she smiles. That is good, Jennifer trusting her and Ryan enough to have dinner with them is good, and now she can meet Graham… that old worry, or perhaps it is hope, Yaz is not sure anymore, about whether meeting all three of them together, in Graham’s house which the Doctor knows, might trigger some memories in her brain swims up to the surface of her mind, but Yaz simply acknowledges its presence and pushes it away. If it happens it happens, but if it doesn’t then at least Jennifer is getting a home-cooked meal, getting out of the cold for one evening, and she is also spending time with Yaz. 

* * *

“Yaz, I’m nervous.” Jennifer admits, coming to a stop on the pavement outside Graham’s, Ryan going ahead of the two of them to open the door. They had spent the walk over to Graham’s chatting lightly between the three of them, Ryan kindly moving to the back of their small group so that Yaz and Jennifer could walk together, and Yaz could feel Jennifer’s nerves increasing with every step closer in the time it had taken. She stuffs her hands in her pockets, curling in on herself as she does when she is wary. “Don’t think I’m any good at table manners.”

_Don’t worry, we’re used to your eccentricities._

“You don’t have to worry about that here.” Yaz reassures her, cocking her head in the direction of Graham’s house. “I promise you, no one here is gonna judge you.”

“Do they…” Jennifer trails off, biting the inside of her cheek. “Do they know ‘bout my memory loss?”

It is Yaz’s turn to look uncertain. “Would you be cross with me if they did? I only told them when I were feeling a bit stressed, it-”

“Yaz, it’s fine.” Jennifer reassures her. “Means I don’t have to try and make something up as to why I don’t remember anything ‘bout myself. Don’t think I could.”

Relief flows through Yaz like cool water, and she shoots Jennifer another reassuring smile. “You wouldn’t have to worry anyway, the boys really won’t press you or judge you. It’s all fine.”

Jennifer looks at her, really looks, for reassurance, and Yaz realises in that look how much the other woman trusts in her. Her stomach flips, and with a smile she holds out her hand for Jennifer to take. The woman glances down at it, sending Yaz a small smile of her own before placing her cold fingers in Yaz’s and letting her lead her into the house.

Eyes dance over the interiors, over the sofa she had napped on that first night they met, not a hint of recognition in them. The Doctor would have strode around the room, inspecting every little thing and curious to no end, and whilst Yaz can see Jennifer looks with interest, her eyes taking everything in, she keeps to herself. Yaz realises, too, she keeps her hand clasped with her own.

Yaz can smell cooking wafting into the main room from the kitchen, Graham’s lasagne well and truly underway. She is about to offer to take Jennifer’s coat from her when the man in question comes padding into the room from the hallway, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He stops in the doorway.

If Graham is shocked, or surprised, he hides it well, and he gives Jennifer a wide smile. “Hello, cockle.”

Jennifer nods her greeting, looking a little sheepish, and Graham catches Yaz’s eyes for a millisecond, and she sends him an encouraging nod, intonating he should lead introductions. He does, something flickering in his eyes for a moment as he says, “I’m Graham. Ryan’s grandad.”

“Jennifer. I’m Yaz’s…” Jennifer hesitates, looking to Yaz. “… Person.”

Graham laughs fondly, and Yaz feels her own insides clench; it is such a _her_ way to answer.

“Well, nice to meet you, Jennifer.” Graham coughs, covering up something strained in his voice, and Yaz shoots an understanding look his way.

“I like your house.” Jennifer says, gesturing to the room around them with a finger. “It’s very… housey.”

Graham laughs again, and Yaz notices the sadness in his eyes even as he kindly replies, “Tar very much, put a lot of effort into it. Can I get you two something to drink while you get settled?”

Graham heads off back to the kitchen soon after to fix them both a cup of tea, and Yaz takes Jennifer’s coat, hanging it up in the hallway, along with her beanie hat. When she re-enters the room, the other woman is still stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, but is looking with more confidence at some of the photos on Graham’s side table next to the sofa. She looks different, and it takes Yaz a moment to realise it is because she has not got her coat or hat on; really, she has only seen her with them on. She looks smaller, stood in just jeans and a worn grey jumper. It makes her weight loss more prominent, and her hair is in desperate need of a brush. Yaz joins her in looking down at whatever has caught her attention, her heart aching when she spots the photograph.

“Who is that?” Jennifer asks her.

“Grace.” Yaz replies. “She was Graham’s wife. She died suddenly.”

“Oh…” Jennifer says, voice laden with sympathy, face creased with it also. It had looked like that when they had clambered from cranes down to the ground, too, Yaz remembers. She goes to brush a finger against the frame, the movement small and almost involuntarily, but she blinks and shakes herself, her hand retracting again. Yaz watches with interest, curious to see if being in a place she _had_ been familiar with might do anything for her memory; so far, however, it seems she is still coming up with nothing.

It gets easier to face that fact when Jennifer turns to her and asks, “Did I do alright? Was it good what I said? It wasn’t too odd?”

“No, you’re fine.” Yaz tells her, but then she leans forward to nudge the woman playfully as says, “Although it could use a little bit of work.”

When Jennifer meets her eyes, she can see that Yaz is joking, and she smiles slightly back, relaxing, her shoulders dropping; they had practically been up by her ears with tension. Yaz feels as if there is a small ball of light and warmth inside her that she has eased the woman’s worries, is a source of comfort for he, that they can joke with each other and know it is no meant to harm.

They eat at the dining table in the front room, large dish of lasagne set out in the middle of the table on a mat so that they can all help themselves to however much they want, keeping it casual. Ryan makes a joke about how weird he finds it that Yaz and Jennifer are having tea with a hot meal, and that eases any residual tension from sitting down and all being caught in one place in the action of sharing a meal. Yaz and Jennifer sit next to each other, Ryan across from them and Graham sat at the head of the table, on Jennifer’s right. Every now and then Jennifer’s arms brushes against Yaz’s, she is pressed quite close to the other woman. Yaz does not mind it, not one bit.

Jennifer had taken the same portion size as Yaz once Graham had set the dish down, following her lead, but Yaz can see how she is eyeing the dish every now and then even as she consumes the portion she has; Yaz wonders when she last had a proper meal like this, not something from a tin, hastily put together, and she has to take a drink of water as she clears the thought from her mind, focussing on the fact that _at least_ she is getting one now, at least the can give her this now.

Ryan must notice her lingering glances, too, for after he has finished his portion, he makes a point of considering the dish before he dives in, dishing himself another portion. “Famished, I am. Anyone else?”

Yaz shakes her head, still working through her first serving, as does Graham, but Jennifer utters a small ‘please’ and allows Ryan to dish her out another portion.

The conversation at the table is light, Ryan and Graham taking the prerogative to not ask Jennifer any questions about herself that she might not feel able to answer, and if she tried to, might be embarrassed in doing so; besides, Yaz has kept them up to date on her situation, barring, of course, those closer intimacies, those closer feelings between the two of them. Although the woman in question does not know it, they understand what is happening here more than they are letting on, and in doing so, all of them are joined in the mission to make her feel safe, and relaxed, and not at all as if they are watching her every move. Even if they share looks of sadness every now and then when she is not looking; Yaz catches Graham’s eye a few times in particular, this is his first experience with Jennifer, and she empathises with how much it makes the head spin.

“S’all that brainwork, son, making you hungry.” Graham says as Ryan tucks into his lasagne, the steam from the piping hot meal wafting into his face.

Ryan shrugs and rolls his eyes, and he points at Jennifer with his fork. “I’ve got Jennifer to thank for some of it, she helped me the other day in the lab.”

Yaz watches as Jennifer looks up at Ryan from under her eyelashes, playing with her food with her fork. She shrugs herself. “It were no bother. It were all your idea really, just needed another pair of eyes to make it make sense.”

“Well, couldn’t have asked for a better pair of eyes.” Yaz says, shooting a kind smile in Jennifer’s direction. The other woman’s cheek tinge pink a bit and she ducks her gaze to her plate. Butterflies flutter in Yaz’s stomach. Across from them, Ryan and Graham share a look.

“Well you’re right there, Yaz.” Ryan says, and then he looks to Jennifer. “Have you told Graham ‘bout what you did with those men’s car?”

Ten minutes later and they are all giggling into their plates as Jennifer regaled to Graham, a little bashfully, the tale of her ‘fixing’ of the cars of the two men who had attacked her. Ryan had jumped in at regular intervals in his excitement over how funny it was, and Yaz feels that warm glow inside of her as she enjoys all four of them interacting and having fun; it might be at a slightly different tempo to what once was, but there is something natural about the way they all get on, and Yaz grabs a hold of that joyous warmth and runs with it, ignoring the lingering sadness, putting it away for the time being as she can see Ryan and Graham doing as they all relax into the evening and their dinner. Yaz focuses also on the way Jennifer relaxes even further, how she finishes off two plates of lasagne and looks content afterwards, the tension gone from her body.

“That is brilliant, really brilliant.” Graham says, shaking his head as his body still shakes with laughter, wiping his mouth with his napkin. Jennifer smiles, still looking a little bashful, but Yaz can see she is reassured at how funny Graham seems to find the whole thing. She wishes she knew just how used to her antics they all are. 

“I like fiddling with things.” Jennifer says, supping at her now lukewarm tea, sounding bolder, more confident. “Breaking them, fixing them, putting them together in different ways… You’d be surprised how many things aren’t constructed at the maximum capacity they could relinquish.”

“Well, would you be willing to have a look at my toaster then?” Graham asks her. “Can barely get the bleedin’ thing to work, and I like my toast just on the cusp of burnt.”

“That’s gross.” Ryan comments.

“Can do, if you don’t mind.” Jennifer says, putting down her mug, looking pleased at being given something to do. “See what I can do.”

“Come this way, then, Do- Jennifer, I’ve got to have some spanners and the such lying around here somewhere.” Graham says, rising from his chair. He turns to Ryan and Yaz. “You don’t mind clearing up, do you cockles?”

Yaz sends Graham a grateful smile and shakes her head, glad that he has given Jennifer something practical to do, something connected to what makes her feel calm. She watches the two of them leave the front room, heading for the kitchen, Graham muttering something about toast, Jennifer following him with a small glance and smile back at Yaz.

When Yaz turns back to the table, already reaching to stack their plates in a neat pile, Ryan is watching her, but Yaz cannot read from his eyes what exactly he is thinking. She shrugs at him and sends him a look that says ‘what?’, but Ryan just shrugs back and says, “Just getting used to it still,” and Yaz can tell there is something else playing on his mind, but she does not push, does not want to push. She just wants this evening, where the boys have been so welcoming and Yaz is getting ever more hopeful that Jennifer is beginning to feel settled with them, with her, to feel… happy, or at least the closest to happy that she can get. 

***

Graham watches Jennifer work, leaning against the kitchen counter, the plates drying on the draining board, Yaz and Ryan are just in the next room, he can hear the low murmur of the television. They are giving him some time alone with her on purpose, he knows.

He does not mind it, only it makes him incredibly sad.

He knew it would, but seeing the reality of it is different, not something that Graham could have prepared himself for, not fully. When Ryan had phoned saying she was coming for dinner he had braced himself as best he could, but the moment she had stepped into the room and looked not at all like the Doctor and yet very much like her at the same time, a complete oxymoron, a wave of sadness had come over him that he has been trying very hard to push back behind seawalls all evening, smiling and joking along with the rest of them. The anecdote about what she had done to those two nasty men’s car had truly made him laugh, but it was bittersweet, a remnant of his friend, an action she would have very much gone through with and yet she had not even known how funny they all found it, starting her tale a little reluctantly, unsure, thinking perhaps they might judge her negatively. In fact, it was heartening to hear that tale, how _Doctor_ it had sounded, and looking at her now Graham understands what Yaz had meant by saying she is not a replacement of the Doctor or worth any _less_ than her, understands what Ryan had told him a couple of days ago when he had returned from university a little wide-eyed. The Doctor and Jennifer are not separate, they stem from the same source, they are the same person, and it is his privilege, now, to look out for her. And it is his privilege, too, to support Yaz in doing that; perhaps a little more than he had already been doing, now that he and Ryan have finally ‘met’ her and can hopefully be of some help.

Looking at her thin shoulders as she bends over the toaster and her pale, spindly hands, Graham just wishes he could offer her his spare room right now and she would take it; but he does not think she will trust him quite so easily just yet.

“Shouldn’t you unplug that?” Graham asks, eyeing the toaster a little warily. “Could give yourself a nasty shock, do yourself a mischief.”

Jennifer shrugs and says a little brazenly, prodding and poking at something with a screwdriver. “Not sure there’s much more harm that could be done.”

Graham flinches a little at that, as does Jennifer. She looks a little like she has caught herself out with her own words when she turns to him wide-eyed and sheepish. “Sorry. That wasn’t a very good thing to say, was it?”

Graham gives her a kind smile and he steps closer. Jennifer remains crouched over the toaster, a little wary and defensive, screwdriver clutched in her hands. “It’s alright, cockle.”

Jennifer glances behind her to the doorway and the living room beyond, and then back down at the toaster, bracing her hands on the counter. Her face darkens. “Yaz said she told you about my….” She gestures to her head with one hand before she returns it to the counter.

Graham nods. The memory loss, he assumes. “Don’t blame her for it. She didn’t do it for any malintent purpose.”

Jennifer shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t think she would.”

Graham takes pause to evaluate her, the hunch of her shoulders, the shadowing in her eyes. He takes his chance to speak whilst it is the two of them alone. “Look, I know we’ve barely met, but you should know you’ll never be judged here, cockle. We’ve all gone through our own losses, in whatever form, and if you ever want somewhere to come when it all gets too much or you just want to chat to people who will listen and understand and not think any different of you because of it, then my door is always open.”

Jennifer is frozen on the spot, her face very still, and Graham worries he has overstepped a line for a moment before she blinks, standing upright, hands hanging limply by her sides. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

Now it is Graham’s turn to be surprised.

“I saw the picture in the living room, Yaz told me.” Jennifer explains, and her eyes rest on the floor as she asks, “You know what it’s like to feel such a big loss, then?”

“Yeah, I do.” Graham says, taking another step forward. He does not know to what Jennifer alludes to precisely, to the loss of her memories, to the lingering grief she feels of a life she does not remember, to perhaps Grace, even if she does not know it is so, but this feels like a chance to connect with her, to do it in a more direct way than he might ever have done with the Doctor. “And so does Ryan, and Yaz, in her own way. So, look, I don’t know what happened to you, not exactly, and it’s fine if you never want to tell me that, but my point is… we all understand in one way or another how you feel, and you can always come here if ever you feel scared or alone. To talk, or not talk, could just be you want a cup of tea and a plate of my trademark lasagne, but you’ll always have a home here. If you want one, that is.”

Jennifer’s eyes are wide, and she is breathing shallowly, as if she is trying not to cry, and Graham feels his own eyes prickle with tears and he sniffs, offering her a warm smile. “My Grace, she was the most brilliant woman I’ve ever known, and I think, if she could see you here now, she would think you’re doing an incredible job.” Jennifer scoffs slightly, looking unsure, but Graham cuts across her, making sure his point is made. A point months in the coming, he realises now, as he says, “If ever you need help, just say. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to, I’m sure it must be incredibly important for you to hold on to what you do have, but just know that all three of us are here.”

Jennifer’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she struggles to think what to say, how to react, how to cope with the emotions caused by Graham’s words. She looks pale, drawn, and Graham worries she might scarper there are then, that he has said too much and spooked her, but finally she speaks, “Thank you, Graham.”

Graham shoots her kind smile. “Nothing to it, cockle. Now, how’s that toaster coming along? If I have to suffer through anymore lightly toasted bread, I might give up on it all together.” 

* * *

Yaz is encouraged by sounds of conversation coming from the kitchen, a low buzz of noise which she can just hear past the burbling of the television. Ryan had switched it on when it became apparent Graham and Jennifer might be a while with the toaster, and he had not wanted to slink off to his room and risk appearing rude. The conversation is interspersed with sounds of metal clanging and some banging sounds, and she and Ryan share a look and shake their heads at each other in mirth as they both wonder what on earth is happening to the toaster.

“S’like she’s…. her, you know.” Ryan says to her, looking a bit awkward about his wording, but Yaz understands what he means; they are still caught out by it, even as they have gotten used to Jennifer.

“I know.” She tells him.

“Yaz, look!” Jennifer says, coming into the room with a delighted smile on her face. She is holding the toaster in her hands, screwdriver tucked behind her ear. “I’ve managed to calibrate it so it has three additional settings! Crisp, burnt, and incinerated!”

Yaz laughs, taking in the new controls Jennifer has adapted and screwed to the microwave. “Have you tried it out to make sure it’s not going to set on fire?”

“Don’t need to, this is fool proof, totally safe!” Jennifer says, and Yaz nods, the smile on her face wide.

“I’ll take your word for it, just might want to warn Graham about the incinerating setting.”

“Right…” Jennifer says, and she turns and heads back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Ryan says, catching Yaz’s attention, and she turns to him. “This is all you, Yaz. You’ve been doing amazing with all this.”

Yaz is struck by his unexpected words, how they have come out of nowhere, seemingly, and she feels like she has just won a victory, as small as it may be, in bringing them all together again, not quite the same, but their family nonetheless. Although…

“You and Graham have been amazing, too, you know.” She says, and then her eyes trail to the doorway, to the kitchen beyond. “And her. It’s all of us. Our fam, right?”

Ryan shoots her a grin. “Right.”

Half an hour later, and Yaz can feel some of the ever-present tension returning to her form. They are all sat in the living room with freshly made cups of tea, Graham in his armchair, Ryan at one end of the sofa and Jennifer at the other, Yaz between them. There is enough room for them to spread out without touching each other, but Yaz shuffles a little closer to Jennifer when she notices the other woman seems to have pushed herself as far into the corner of the sofa as she can. She does not touch her tea, and she is very quiet. It is worrying.

Graham and Ryan notice, too, but they make a good effort of pretending not to, making a running commentary of the programme they are watching, a nature documentary of some kind, currently exploring the Nordic valleys. Yaz eyes Jennifer. The other woman is not paying attention to it, her gaze on her lap, the free hand not clasping her mug of tea tracing arbitrary patterns on the sofa arm. Her gaze, Yaz notices with slight alarm, is unfocussed.

Yaz, not wanting to attract the attention of the boys, very gently puts her hand to Jennifer’s arm. “Hey.” She whispers. “You okay?”

Jennifer does not respond at first, and a dent appears in her brow, her breathing getting more ragged. The fingers tracing a pattern on the arm of sofa get faster, digging into the fabric, and Yaz is about to shake her slightly and call her name again when she suddenly startles into movement, standing suddenly and slopping her tea over the floor.

“I’ve got to go.” She says, striding from the room before any of them have a chance to realise she _has_ left, let alone stop her. The front door slams, and they all shake themselves.

“I’ll got after her.” Yaz says, standing and placing her mug of tea on the coffee table. She realises Jennifer must still have hers.

“Is she alright?” Ryan asks, sitting upright on the sofa in his alarm.

Yaz shrugs, already heading for the door. “Not sure. I’ll got and see.” She makes to leave, then, but she turns once she reaches the doorway, looking between the boys. “Tonight went well. It did, I know it did, this is just…” Yaz trails off, unable to explain, unsure herself, just knowing she _needs_ to go after Jennifer now and see if she is alright.

“It’s alright, Yaz, we understand.” Graham tells her kindly. “You just let us know everything’s alright.”

Yaz nods and shoots him and Ryan a grateful smile before she turns and heads out of the room. She grabs her coat from the hanger, realising as she does Jennifer has forgotten her own, and her hat. She shucks on her own coat and grabs them from the hook, heading out into the Sheffield night.

Jennifer has not gone far. In fact, Yaz has to stop suddenly when she realises she is leant against Graham’s garden wall, taking deep breaths, bracing herself with her hands on the rough slate. Graham’s mug sits abandoned next to her on the wall. Yaz comes to a stop by her.

“Hey.” She says, tone a little breathless. “You okay? You forgot your coat.”

The wind has picked up, and Yaz can already feel the tips of her fingers getting chilly in the night air. In front of them Sheffield sprawls lazily in bright lights.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t very good, was it?” Jennifer says to her, voice a little ragged. “Storming out like that.”

“It don’t matter.” Yaz reassures her. “Here.” She hands out Jennifer’s coat for her to take, and the other woman does, shakily sliding her arms through the sleeves and shoving the hat on her head. Her fingers shake as she tries to do up the zipper, and whether from the cold or the tension currently running through her body, or a combination of both, Yaz is not sure, but she steps forward, without really thinking about it, just wanting to, and takes the coat into her hands, doing the zipper up herself.

The action releases some of the tension Jennifer is holding and she slumps more heavily against Graham’s garden wall, breathing short and shallow. Yaz thinks she is trying not to cry. She steps back a little once she is done, and waits in silence for Jennifer to speak if she wants to, not wanting to pressure her into anything.

All of a sudden, before Yaz realises what is happening, Jennifer is pulling her into a hug, clinging desperately to Yaz’s shoulders. Yaz lets out a small sound of confusion and exclamation before she brings her own arms up to hold Jennifer, sinking her chin onto the other woman’s shoulder.

“Hey...” She murmurs as she hears the other woman sniffing into her shoulder.

“Sorry.” Jennifer apologises, voice thick. “I don’t know what happened I just had to get out of there.”

“S’alright.” Yaz assures her. Her heart is hammering in her chest as she feels Jennifer’s warm body pressed against her own, thinks of how the woman has thrown herself at Yaz for comfort, how much the trust between them has grown. It makes her hold Jennifer all the more tighter.

They stand there for a while, simply holding each other, whilst Jennifer’s breathing calms down, and by the time they break apart both women’s feet have gone numb from standing still in the cold for too long.

“Do you want to go back in?” Yaz asks her, but Jennifer shakes her head.

“No, I think I just want to go home.” She says.

Yaz’s heart clenches at the fact she calls that grim little cabin ‘home’ but she simply nods and asks, “Do you want some company walking back there?”

Jennifer smiles gratefully, and the two of them set off down the street towards the park and the cabin in the woods, the lights of Sheffield accompanying them on their way. After a few minutes, Yaz feels Jennifer’s hands brush against hers, an invitation, and Yaz gladly takes the other woman’s fingers in her own, clasping their hands together tight. 

“I don’t know what happened.” Jennifer suddenly says as they begin ascending the hill leading up to the park. “I haven’t… I can’t remember having an evening like that. It were brilliant.”

“Good, I’m really glad.” Yaz says.

“Graham, he said to me I can always go there, when I want, if I want, that I’ll always have a… _home_ there.” Jennifer’s voice catches on the word ‘home’, and it makes Yaz’s heart skip a beat, too.

“He means that.” She replies. “Graham’s a good bloke, but he’s also not a stupid one. He wouldn’t have said that unless he meant it.”

“I just….” Jennifer sighs, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. It is quiet, only a couple of cars trundle by them, and there is no one else out and about. When Jennifer speaks, her face is shadowed in the half-darkness, but her eyes gleam in the streetlights, full of conflicting emotions. “My head is spinning a bit. It’s like it’s got a wonk.”

Yaz cannot help the small smile that comes to her lips at the word ‘wonk.’ “I understand. You don’t really know them, only my word to take for them being good people you can trust in. It’s a lot to happen in an evening, and _only_ an evening at that.”

“I trust you, Yaz, I trust you more than anyone.” Jennifer admits, and Yaz’s heart skips a beat once again. “And I know you’re not fooling me when you say they’re good people. I can _tell,_ it’s like I just know.”

Yaz nods, wondering how to take that. Could be a remnant of her memories seeping through, could just be instinct, but she shakes herself; what is important now is how Jennifer is feeling.

“But I feel scared, Yaz. Scared it will disappear, that you’ll go away.” Jennifer admits. “I’m scared that if I accept that maybe I’m not alone anymore then you’ll be taken away from me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Jennifer.” Yaz replies with strong conviction, holding onto the other woman’s hand tighter. “And neither are Ryan and Graham. That’s a promise, I promise you I will not leave you.”

Jennifer sucks in a shaky breath, and the light reflecting in her eyes becomes watery as tears gather in the corners. “I had a family before, I must have done.” She admits. “Because the moment we began talking about families and home and all I could feel was this pressing sadness, this grief, coming from that part of my brain that is all messed up and scrambled and it was fighting against this new feeling of… of _hope._ It was so strong, and I didn’t know what to do and all I could think was ‘get out before I lose this small bit of hope, before I forget you, too!’”

“Focus on the here and now.” Yaz tells her, taking a step closer to her. “Focus on the present, focus on where you are now, because I promise you, Jennifer, I am not leaving you. You remember all of this, yes? You remember who you are, where you are, you remember that I am here for you, that Ryan and Graham are here for you, too. I’m not saying your past isn’t important but hold onto that hope.”

Yaz can barely believe herself, but she thinks, perhaps, like Jennifer, she is grasping at the hope she feels because it is so welcome through the dark mass of uncertainty and fear that has surrounded them for weeks and weeks. Suddenly, a phrase comes to her mind, dug from deep in her memory, in the very first months of their adventures, and the use is bittersweet, but she focuses more on the sweet.

“Hope prevails.” She says with a smile, and Jennifer blinks at her, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You’ll prevail, I know you will. And I’ll be there with you.”

That hope shines bright in Jennifer’s eyes, creating its own luminescence.

“I don’t think I could ever forget you, Yaz.” She says, and Yaz’s stomach clenches at that but she smiles, and like Jennifer, focusses on the hope, the hope of better, of finding light in the darkness just like Jennifer’s own light shines from her.

“Good, I should hope not.” Yaz says lightly, jokingly, and Jennifer smiles, relief rippling through her, the lines in her face easing.

“Come on.” She says. “Let’s keep moving. It’s freezing out here.”

Yaz passes on commenting on the fact that she does not think the cabin will be much better and they continue walking up the hill in silence. She insists on walking Jennifer to the cabin door, instead of just leaving her at the park entrance. The space is consumed in pitch blackness, but by the light of Yaz’s phone flash and Jennifer’s close knowledge of the space, they reach it, the building looming at them in the darkness.

“Can you find your way back from here?” Jennifer asks her with concern as she rifles in her coat pocket for her key, both of them having to finally let go of each other’s hands.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Yaz tells her.

“Thank you, Yaz, for tonight. And for letting me off earlier.” Jennifer says to her.

“Of course.” Yaz replies, giving her a warm smile. There is something between them, buzzing like electricity, but in the near darkness, Yaz’s phone their only light, neither of them is quite ready to touch the line connecting them, switch on the light.

What Jennifer does do, however, is step forward and pull Yaz into another hug, briefer this time, only lasting a few second before she pulls away, but it sends Yaz’s heart racing. The Doctor had never been a touchy person, and Jennifer certainly had not been in the beginning, being so wary, and it comes as the clearest signifier of the change in their relationship. It sets off a mix of emotions in Yaz, but there that hope comes, crawling past sorrow and sadness, a small light in the dark.

Yaz bids Jennifer goodbye with a small wave after that, setting off across the clearing and back through the woodland. The ground is crunchy under her feet with frost, and Yaz fears there might be snow on the way soon enough. Hopefully she can convince Jennifer to Graham’s spare room by then, she _really_ does not like the idea of her-

Yaz comes to a sharp stop as something catches at the edge of her flashlight. Movement, two pairs of feet, just in the clearing as the woodland recedes. Yaz breathes heavily, keeping calm. It is probably nothing, just two people out for a walk… in the pitch blackness.

Yaz moves forward at a slower pace, keeping her eyes peeled, moving the light this way and that. Sticks crack and break under her feet and she curses them as she tries to listen for the sound of other footsteps in the dark. She is just swinging her light towards the left when some movement catches her eyes there.

It is the two figures again, and Yaz moves quicker towards them, something ominous prickling down her spine. She cannot quite see them, only catching flashes of skin and heavy-set shoulders, but they seem to have their backs to her, and she is almost caught up to them when-

Yaz trips, nearly falling, catching herself with a hand against the rough bark of a tree, scratching her palm. She drops her phone, and curses as the light falls facing upwards, shining into her face and blinding her temporarily. By the time she has gotten a hold of it and gotten herself upright, blinking the light away in her retinas, the two figures are gone, no sign of them. she listens. Still nothing. just the darkness.

She hesitates for a moment, catching her breath. It might have been nothing, no one knows where the cabin is, it is so well-hidden. It was probably nothing. Yaz is just being paranoid, focussing on the darkness when really, she should be focussing on the light.

It is getting easier to do that with Jennifer by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Forgive me, I know nothing about engineering or cars so please suspend disbelief if any of it is disbelievable! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	9. Burning Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been about two months since the last update, life got worse! But, I'm back, and this is actually the first part of a chapter I've had to split in half, so the next part will be soon! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos on the last chapter, that was really nice to receive, and I hope you enjoy this one! (P.S. I hate proofreading, so I hope this makes sense!)  
> Buckle up for some angst!

Yaz sits at her desk and stares up at the pinboard in front of her, the clippings she has collected, has stopped collecting, now, for a few weeks, as her search has become more and more hopeless, and she has felt less and less like continuing.

She does not see the point anymore, not really.

They have done all they can. Ryan’s machine, when he had finally gotten it together and gotten it started, had combusted, falling to pieces. The discords and blogs online have come up with nothing, only the solar storms, still, and they are of no interest. Yaz’s findings, her newspaper clippings, her tweet threads, well, they all seem rather useless now. She has found who she was looking for. She is different, but she is there.

It has been just over two weeks since that first dinner at Ryan and Graham’s, and since then Jennifer has been spending more time with both Yaz and the boys. She has continued to help out Ryan with his end of semester project, and she has bonded with Graham over an interest in history, sitting for hours with him and listening and discussing with him, on one occasion brining a handful of the books she has gotten her most interesting stories from. And with Yaz… they talk, and they go for lunch and sometimes Yaz accompanies her to the scrap heap in the industrial sector of the city and keeps watch whilst she forages for parts, bringing them back to her cabin and fiddling with them, muttering under her breath excitedly. Yaz watches her as she works, smiling fondly at her excitement, which is crawling out from the cave of her tampered mind and bearing its face to the sun for longer and longer as Jennifer becomes… happier. Yaz thinks she is happier, anyway, or else she is hiding her pain easier.

The notebook helps, she knows that much. Yaz has not seen in it, but she spots it in Jennifer’s pocket each time they meet, so she must keep it on her at all times, and in the moments when Yaz is there and the other woman’s eyes are more glazed and the lines around her eyes more tense, she soon scribbles something or another in her notebook and afterwards seems… calmer. Yaz has thanked Graham a hundred times over for the suggestion. And Yaz hopes that maybe in the writing down, not only will calmness be achieved, but perhaps reflection and maybe even… recollection. That with time and gentle coaxing, Jennifer might begin to remember what happened, who she was, and where she has come from.

And so, as she stares up at the pinboard and the frustrating dead ends being all that it reveals, she makes a decision. With a sigh she rises from her chair and reaches forward, unhooking it from the wall. The space afterwards looks barren, the white wall blank, but to Yaz it is still as if the pinboard were there, the clues she had collected revealing nothing, being as undiscerning as a blank white wall.

This is not giving up, this is diverting energy where it is best needed. They will exhaust themselves going around in circles hoping that perhaps there might be an inkling of a chance their efforts will help them discover the Tardis. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but in the swallowing Yaz knows it is the right pill for all of them right now. There will always be the hope that one day they will catch wind of a blue box, but for now, Yaz is calling off the search, for it has grown desperate and inefficient. With Jennifer now more than just a shadow, even more than just a shade, now, having grown into a tangible person, a _chromatic_ person with thoughts and feelings and emotions, grown from the past but now flowering in her own life. And Yaz has a place in that life, a very important and prominent place, and it helps her tend her wounds, her grief over the Doctor, over that life. Makes it a lot easier to deal with that loss, because it is loss without total abandonment; the Doctor is still there in Jennifer, even if it is to colour in those lines of her new self, and Yaz thinks she could be a lot worse off, might not have any part of her remaining at all. Might not be so lucky as to have her anew, as another person.

Especially when Jennifer seems as grateful for Yaz as Yaz does for Jennifer.

Yaz tucks the pinboard under her bed, pushing it out of sight with her foot. She nods determinedly. This is a good thing. 

* * *

The wind is blustering, battering Yaz as she steps out of the warm confines of the police station and into the bitter winter twilight. Winter is well on its way, Christmas decorations have begun to appear in windows, and are strung along the high street, tinsel draped over the office cubicles in the police station. She wraps her coat tighter around herself and bites her lip. She has never been happy with the idea of Jennifer in that cabin but is becoming even more so now at the thought of her inhabiting that space in this winter chill. Surely something has got to give soon enough?

Just then her phone rings.

Yaz pulls the device from her pocket. Mind elsewhere, she does not read the caller ID, and so when she presses the green button to receive the call and bring it to her ear, she thinks for a moment she has reached a cold caller, the line filled with static and nonsensical noises, and she almost hangs up when…

“Yaz!”

Jennifer’s voice is crackling down the end of the line, but sure enough it is Jennifer’s voice, and Yaz feels a swell of adrenaline build up inside of her.

“Jennifer?” She asks. “You okay?”

“Yaz! Help me!” Jennifer cries. “They’re coming for me!”

“Who? Who is coming for you?” Yaz asks, heart well and truly thumping. Her eyes focus on nothing in particular in the distance, she is not aware of the officers passing her as they enter and exit the station, giving her strange looks, all her attention given to the voice on the other end of the line.

“I don’t-” Jennifer’s voice catches in her throat in fear. “I don’t understand.”

“Jennifer, where are you?” Yaz asks her, desperately trying to keep her voice calm even as panic reigns unsupervised inside of her. “Are you at the cabin?”

Jennifer’s response is a cry of ‘yes!’, and Yaz is barely cognisant of her movement as she turns and heads back into the foyer, towards her office.

“Jennifer, stay on the line.” She orders the other woman as she impatiently pushes through doors and into the stairwell. “I’m coming. Just stay on the line, Jen, stay on the-”

The line goes dead.

Yaz lets out a cry caught halfway between frustration and fear, and looks down at the phone in her hand for a moment as she breathes. Jennifer needs her, Jennifer is in trouble. From what? Could it be those aliens of so many weeks ago? Could they have found her? What could they be doing to her?

Yaz barely gives thought to what she is doing as she races back up to her office floor, to her desk, snagging her keys and pivoting on her heel to exit the office once more, ignoring the calls of her teammates, her sergeant. She does not hesitate for one moment as she strides down to the garage, towards her patrol car, unlocking the door and clambering inside. She puts the key in the ignition, starting the engine, and only then does she give herself pause for thought.

Jennifer is in trouble.

Jennifer needs her help.

Yaz can help her. And if this is the aliens, if this is something- well, whatever it _is_ that is threatening Jennifer, they have not considered how Yaz might put a stop to whatever they have planned. She has been doing her best to settle, has been coming to terms with seeing it as more than settling and as something _good,_ but if this is an opportunity to somehow intervene and act first-hand on the Doctor’s behalf… then Yaz will take it gladly.

Maybe she is overthinking it, maybe there really aren’t aliens in Sheffield, but either way… Jennifer is in trouble. And Yaz is coming to save her.

She presses down hard on the accelerator, and then she is off. 

* * *

When Yaz arrives at the park, the storm has gotten even harsher, and rain pricks the skin like needles it is so cold and heavy in its downpour. She slams the car door shut, almost forgetting to lock it before she sets off across the main park path and towards the clump of trees across from the large lawned area.

She should call the boys, call Ryan, ask him to come and help, should _not_ be going into this without backup, but _stars_ if the time for action has come after weeks of nothing then Yaz will go without a moment to lose. It is reckless, she is not thinking straight, but she wonders if she ever has with the Doctor, or Jennifer, around.

She stops for a moment upon reaching the wooded area, wishing she had had the forethought to take her baton or her torch with her, as the gathering gloom of night forces the intensity of the storm ever closer, plastering hair to Yaz’s face, soaking her jeans, but she summons her courage, pushes her shoulders back, and without a further ado, plunges into the darkness of the wood.

She tears through the trees, leaping and jumping over roots and pushing past low hanging branches until she comes to the clearing, Jennifer’s cabin a shadowy shape looming in front of her. There is no light coming from the inside, it emits no beacon of hope, and Yaz makes a small distressed noise in the back of her throat, turning around in a circle on the spot, hair being whipped into her face by the wind. She pushes it back impatiently.

Where is she?

She does not dare shout her name in case she exposes her cover when she might need to be stealthy, so Yaz makes her careful way towards the cabin, hand wrapping around the doorknob. She takes one breath, two, the whistling off the wind dying in her ears in lieu of her intense concentration, and then twists the doorknob and pulls the door open.

Nothing.

The cabin is empty, Jennifer’s small bed looking rumpled and neglected, her books lying strewn across the floor, her machine still covered in the corner. Yaz bites her lip, letting out a groan of frustration and striding from the cabin again, closing the door behind her in case it flies open and makes a loud noise owing to the wind.

It is when Yaz round the cabin she spots them. The two figures seem to be made of the darkness and the shadows, spectres of the night, but the slope of their shoulders and the way their bald heads catch the light of the moon tells Yaz these are the men- those men, who had been taught their lesson, but had not learned, apparently…

Now they are towering over Jennifer, who is huddled on the ground, hands curled over her face to protect herself. The men seem to be surveying her, staring at her with singular concentration, and Yaz gapes, wide eyed and open mouthed for a moment before anger shoots through her veins like a volcano exploding, her blood made of boiling lava, and her words summon the power of Vulcan as she shouts, “HEY!”

The men turn to her, a smooth movement of their heads cocking to the side, not surprised, not really reacting in any significant way at all. They appraise her with eyes cold and dead like sharks, and it strikes Yaz as odd, slightly out of place, jarring. They had not been like this a couple of weeks ago. Then, they had simply appeared normal, human, but now they look… inhuman.

_Alien._

She was right. They are back for her. But they will _not_ have her.

“What are you doing to her?” Yaz demands of them as she steps forward, phone gripped in her hand, ready to be used as a weapon or a line for help. Jennifer remains huddled on the ground, not reacting to the confrontation happening in front of her. _Please be alright,_ Yaz thinks.

The men do not reply, instead they simply give Yaz a long look before, much to Yaz’s astonishment, they both collapse to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of their heads. Yaz makes a sound of surprise, and hesitates, stepping forward as if approaching wild animals, tentative, creeping, until she is sure after a few seconds that the men are out for the count. She wavers, but decides it would be best to get her and Jennifer out of there before they come to; once she is sure Jennifer is alright ( _please let her be alright)_ then she can come back and check, or one of the boys can, just right now she needs to make sure Jennifer is alright.

Yaz tucks her phone into her pocket, throwing herself down on the ground next to Jennifer. Her heart is hammering so hard in her chest it feels as if it is stabbing at her breastbone as she leans over Jennifer, taking the woman’s pulse. It is there, fast but steady.

The woman’s pulse might be steady but when Yaz bends over to peer at her face it is scrunched up in distress. She looks terrified. Yaz’s fear is near-electric in her veins, snapping and cracking like the lightning bolts above. _What have they done to her?_ She is worried about moving her, if she has any injuries, but they need to move, they need to get away from those men.

She needs to get her to Ryan and Graham’s.

“Jennifer.” She says, trying desperately to keep her voice calm. “Jen. It’s me, it’s Yaz, it’s alright. Does anything hurt?”

“It burns, it burns.” Jennifer cries her hands coming up to clutch at her head, tugging on her hair so hard Yaz fears she might pull it out.

“What burns?” Yaz asks her, desperately trying to scan her for injuries, but her clothes don’t look dishevelled, there is nothing ripped, and from the way Jennifer is clutching her head Yaz wonders if whatever they did is all mental.

 _They._ The men. Or what _looks_ like the men, but might be something else altogether, something more sinister, something which has been stalking her dreams for weeks, filling her mind with mystery ever since she was dumped outside Ryan and Graham’s. The very beings that did this to the Doctor in the first place.

“It hurts! It hurts!” Jennifer is near-sobbing in her distress and pain and Yaz feels her own tears pricking at her eyes as she makes her decision. She scoops her arms under Jennifer’s back and knees, and bracing herself, she slowly lifts the woman off the ground in her arms. She is lighter than she should be, and Yaz is grateful in that moment for the fact, sickened by it after.

“It’s okay, babe.” She says, the epithet slipping from her lips before she can stop it. “It’s going to be okay.”

Yaz has no idea if it will be, terrified out of her mind as to what has been done here and about whether Jennifer will be alright and if she should be leaving those men there but all she can think about is the weight she carries in her arms and making it out of the woods and to her car.

Out of the woods and to her car. _Focus on that, Khan,_ she tells herself, _focus on that and you can do this._

She makes it to her car.

Jennifer has gone quiet in her arms, and another wave of adrenaline washes like a tidal wave over Yaz as to whether that is better or worse. No one can see her in the near-pitch black darkness, and for that she is grateful as she fumbles to get her car door open, letting out a cry of relief as she does and she can set Jennifer down, her arms burning after carrying her all that way, despite her light weight.

The other woman’s head lolls against the headrest, ending up with her chin nudging at her chest, and Yaz takes her pulse once again. It is there, slower this time but still steady. Her breathing is deep and even, and Yaz wonders whether she has passed out.

“Shit.” Yaz swears, her hands shaking a little as she pulls the seat belt across Jennifer’s chest. The journey to Graham and Ryan’s is not exactly long, but she is not taking any more risks with the other woman. Guilt curls in her gut, alongside panic as Yaz desperately tries to keep her cool, take it one thing at a time.

The journey might not be long, but to Yaz it feels like eternity. She glances over at Jennifer nearly every second, checking on the woman’s condition. She remains still and unresponsive. The rain beating down on the car window feels like it is hammering in her head and piles on more and more pressure. She has not had time to warn the boys of the situation, so when she pulls up outside Graham’s house, the glowing from inside like a beacon of safety, she makes quick work of turning off the engine, quickly glancing over at Jennifer, no change, before she launches herself out of the car and to the front door, knocking loudly, before heading back to the car on the passenger’s side, pulling open the door.

The door opens a moment later, whilst Yaz is in the process of undoing Jennifer’s seat belt, and Ryan peers out at her, looking past the heavy rain, pondering what she is doing for a moment before Yaz shouts for him to give her a hand, hoping he hears her over the gale.

“Yaz! What’s happened?” Ryan asks her, voice fraught with worry as he takes in the sight in front of them, coming to a stop by the car, peering in at the unconscious Jennifer.

“Help me get her inside, then I’ll explain.” Yaz tells him, and Ryan nods, bending to help her manoeuvre Jennifer from the car.

They make quick work of supporting her from the car and into the house, a wide-eyed Graham standing back from the doorway as they sidle in and place her on the sofa. Yaz instructs Ryan to hold her upright whilst she works her jacket off, the cumbersome material damp and not pleasant to sleep in and also too hot in Graham’s house. Once that is removed Yaz adjusts her legs and then her head to make sure she is comfortable, stretched out supine, bending down by her side to take her pulse whilst Ryan grabs the blanket from the back of the sofa, laying it over her figure.

“Her pulse is fine, she’s just….” Yaz shrugs, sitting back on her knees and breathing heavily. Her own pulse is _racing._

“Yaz, love, what happened?” Graham asks her, looking deeply concerned. Yaz runs a hand through her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, Ryan and Graham’s Christmas glints brightly in the corner, its glowing lights mocking in their festivity.

“Got a call from her not long ago. She sounded terrified, so I rushed over there… the two men who assaulted her, they were just stood over her and she was on the floor… I don’t know what they were doing, but… the moment they noticed me, they collapsed to the ground.”

“Eh?” Ryan asks, perching on the arm rest of the sofa.

“It were like they were… possessed.” Yaz tries to describe it. She gestures to her own eyes as she says, “There was something in their eyes. Something not human, something… _alien._ ”

“Yaz… what are you saying?” Ryan asks her.

“I don’t know, but…” Yaz wets her lips with her tongue, turning her gaze to Jennifer, “I think it might be linked to what happened to us and started all this in the first place. I think it might be _those_ aliens, or whatever they were, again.”

“Can you be sure, Yaz?” Graham asks her, bracing his hands on his thighs as he perches on the sofa arm.

“No!” Yaz cries, frustrated, and she sees Graham’s shock for a moment before understanding sinks into the heavy lines of his face. Pity and concern follow soon after. “I can’t be sure of anything! But it wasn’t right! Those men, they didn’t look like that before, and they collapse to the ground simultaneously? Whatever it was, had got in their heads.” _Like they had got in the Doctor’s head, messed up her mind._ _Are they back for more?_ “What do you think they want with her? Do you think-” Yaz swallows back bile. _Do you think they’ve done some more messing?_ “She was holding her head earlier. She said- she said it felt like burning.” Yaz looks up at Ryan and Graham, despair heavy set, frustration that she does not know, got so close to be able to doing something and confronting something but has just fallen short. “Her mind is fragile as it is, I don’t know if-”

“Don’t worry about it before the fact, Yaz.” Graham says kindly. He looks down at Jennifer, eyes sad. “We’ll deal with it when the times comes- _if_ the time comes. For now, do you think they’ll be back? Maybe we need to barricade the door or something?”

“Maybe one of us should go out there?” Ryan suggests. “See if they’re still there.”

Yaz hesitates, half getting up from the floor and half remaining put. “I can go. I know where they were.”

“Yaz, mate, you’re already drenched, you need to get changed.” Ryan says kindly, pointing to Yaz’s soaked jeans. Her hair feels sticky against the back of her neck where the heat of the room is beginning to dry it. “Let me go, we’ve got to have an old gold club or something I can use as a weapon, right gramps?”

“Oh, yeah, son, used to be fond of a round of golf.” Graham says, and gestures in the direction of the hall. “Might be in the cupboard under the stairs somewhere.”

Ryan nods and moves off to get ready, but Graham calls out to him before he can leave the room. “Son? Be careful.”

Ryan nods, and then looks to Jennifer, eyes thoughtful, before they eventually turn to Yaz. “Stay with her, Yaz. You know you’re the one she’d want with her.”

Yaz takes in a shuddering breath at that. Who knows what Jennifer wants anymore? What she might be like, what might have been-

“Yaz.” Graham says, snapping Yaz out of her catastrophising. She blinks, shaking her head. “Don’t worry too much on it, love. We’ll deal with whatever comes, we always do.”

Yaz summons a small smile at Graham’s kind encouragement, extremely glad of his presence as she sits by the sofa, Jennifer unconscious, not giving her anything which might reassure.

The front door closes with a bang as Ryan leaves, heading off for the woods, for the cabin, which twists nerves in Yaz’s stomach. At the sound of the door, Jennifer shifts and lets out a small moan, discomforted by the sound, and Yaz leans forward, taking the other woman’s hand, feeling for her pulse as she does. Faster, but steady.

“Jennifer? Can you hear me?” She calls, but the other woman gives no indication, her brow furrowed by her eyes closed, lost to something in her mind, a nightmare or… or worse.

“Yaz, go and get changed, love.” Graham goads her lightly with a hand on her arm, pulling her gently away from Jennifer’s side. “Ryan’s got some clothes you could borrow. They’ll be a bit big, but he won’t mind.”

Yaz sniffs but allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Get herself sorted and she can be there for Jennifer. _Stars, there is so much to think about._

“Oh, shit.” She mutters, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “My car. I need to return it to the station. I took without asking, I’m not even _on_ duty. I’m going to be in _so much_ trouble!”

“Yaz, take it one thing at a time.” Graham tells her, placing his hands on her arms to keep her grounded. Jennifer’s shifts on the sofa again as outside thunder booms, and Yaz’s breath comes out ragged, and she begins shaking, shock settling in. “There’s got to be one of your mates at work who can come and pick it up? Why don’t you phone, explain you had an emergency? Then get changed, please, you’re soaking wet and we can’t have you getting sick.”

Yaz nods, taking a steadying breath, trying to calm herself. She looks to Jennifer, brow still furrowed, looking discomforted, now, in unconsciousness. “Please, look after her for a moment will you?”

Graham nods. “’Course, love. And when you’re back down I’ll make us all some tea. How does that sound?”

Yaz nods, and with an encouraging pat on the arm from Graham, and one last glance back at Jennifer, Yaz turns and heads out into the hall and up the stairs, the wood creaking beneath her feet.

She holds it together, _just,_ until she reaches Ryan’s bedroom, and closes the door behind her. Then, she collapses onto the side of the bed and lets herself breath shakily until she has enough energy and courage to pull out her phone. Just when things had started getting settled. Better. And now… now who knows what has been done to Jennifer.

 _One thing at a time, Yaz,_ she tells herself, reminding herself of Graham’s words, _We’ll worry about it when the time comes._

She just wishes the universe would stop being so cruel. 

* * *

A darkened room, rain lashing against the windowpanes, cries which get louder and louder with each boom of thunder outside. Yaz is going spare.

Jennifer’s condition has deteriorated in the hours that have passed since she turned up at Graham and Ryan’s, whatever she is seeing in the throes of unconsciousness causing her severe distress. The storm outside does not help, seems to exacerbate her pain, and Yaz sits by her side, feeling at a loss for what to do other than to be there and try and soothe her as best as possible.

“It’s alright,” She murmurs, barely knowing what she is saying herself as she dabs a cool cloth across Jennifer’s forehead. She is sweaty, and hot, and Yaz is sure she must be running a fever. Her pulse is racing. “It’s okay.”

Her reassurances are for nought, however, as Jennifer is too far gone. Her eyes are scrunched up as she pleads under her breath to something in her dreams- her _nightmares_ \- and her head twists from side to side on the pillow. They had put her in the spare room once it became clear she was not going to regain consciousness any time soon, and Yaz had wanted to get her changed, too; her trousers were dirty and wet from lying on the ground. Lying under the covers dressed in Ryan’s baggy clothes, she looks tiny, her weight loss more evident, and Yaz swears to herself in that moment that she will not let Jennifer go back to that lonely cabin, she will be staying _here_ , where it is warm, and she is surrounded by her family.

“Please,” Jennifer begs. “ _No…_ ”

“It’s alright,” Yaz tells her. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

Jennifer pauses in her agitated movement, and Yaz’s heart jumps in her chest, but then a moment later she resumes her distress. Yaz sighs, and closes her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

Yaz wants to slam her fist into the wall. Something has finally happened, and yet they know nothing more than they did already. Ryan had returned only an hour after he had left, and whilst that in itself had been a relief, he had come back shaking his head and shrugging.

“Saw no sign of them.” He had reported, shucking off his wet raincoat. “They were gone by the time I got there. There was no one about.”

Yaz had settled back on her heels, caught between relief and frustration, glad Ryan had not been in danger but scared they could be coming for them, could be _anywhere._ Now, hours later, there has been no sign, although with the storm thundering outside it would be difficult to hear them. Ryan is sat downstairs with the golf club just in case.

And they still know nothing. Nothing except, if these are the creatures that did this to the Doctor, somehow taking over the bodies of the two men, then they still have an interest in the Doctor, in what they had done to her. Scary information, but information, nonetheless. And Yaz fears Ryan and his gold club might not be enough if they do come knocking on the door.

But she takes Graham’s advice and grips it in desperate hands like a shield. _We’ll worry about it when it comes._ There is nothing they can do, and worrying will not help, so Yaz settles back and does what she can, comforting Jennifer, even if she does not feel her presence is helping the other woman much.

There is a knock on the bedroom door, and Ryan appears, a mug of tea in hand. He shoots Yaz a small smile as she enters, glancing worriedly to Jennifer, still shifting underneath the bedsheets. Placing the tea on the bedside table, he stands at Yaz’s side.

“How is she?” He asks.

“Not good.” Yaz replies, sighing wearily. “I don’t know what they did to her, but it’s not good.”

Ryan places his hand on Yaz’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s good that you’re here with her.”

Yaz scoffs. “I don’t think my presence is doing anything. I don’t think anything I’m trying to do is helping.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Nah. No, I don’t believe that. You’ve been amazing, Yaz. Through all of this. None of us really know what’s going on, and if that wasn’t always typical of being with the Doctor then I don’t know what is.” He jokes, and Yaz laughs lightly, sucking in a shaky breath afterwards. She feels upheaved. “But it’s been extra hard this time, and yet you’ve been there for her.”

“I didn’t mind it.” Yaz admits. “It’s not like it’s been a burden to have to _spend time_ with her.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a lot to take, isn’t it?” Ryan counters. “Her being different. And you’re right, she’s… I enjoy spending time with her, I wasn’t sure at first, but she’s good to be around. But you’ve still got to remember that her not being the Doctor is going to have an effect on you. And you’ve coped with it so well.”

Yaz sniffs. Ryan is right, even as things have been getting much better in recent weeks, the circumstances of Jennifer’s creation were less than favourable, and it’s been a heavy burden to carry, especially with all the questions and no answers.

“And with _this,_ now.” Ryan says, gesturing to Jennifer on the bed. “You’re so strong, Yaz.”

“I don’t even know if this helping.” Yaz says despairingly, holding the cloth up in the air. “She could be- she could be _dying_ for all we know, Ryan! She looks bad enough for it!”

Ryan considers this, looking grimly down at Jennifer laid out in the bed before them.

“If she dies like this.” Yaz says, voice catching, as if her tongue is begging her not to speak the words into existence, the terrible fear. “If she dies like this, then she’ll be properly dead. No Time Lord tricks left. _Then_ what do we do?”

Ryan is left shaking his head, out of words of comfort in the face of such finality. Of such mortality. “I don’t know.” He finally replies, honestly. “I don’t know what we’ll do, but we’re fighting for her now, and we’re with her. You’re doing your best, Yaz, and haven’t we always said that’s all we can do? Our best?”

Yaz just nods, a small jerky movement of her head, dipping her cloth into the small bowl of cold water on the bedside table and replacing it on Jennifer’s forehead.

“Yaz,” the other woman mutters, eyelashes fluttering, but not quite reaching full consciousness. “Yaz.”

Yaz stares down at her, mouth open ever so slightly. Behind her, Ryan smirks, and punches her lightly on the shoulder. “See? She needs you. You’re doing good by being with her.”

“Yaz,” Jennifer says again, more of a sigh than a word, and sounding more at peace. Yaz’s breath stumbles out of her in a way she can only describe as flustered, her cheeks flushing. It is a nice feeling compared to the hollow despair of moments earlier.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ryan says, heading towards the door. “I left Graham down there with the golf club, but I’m not sure he’ll be much hack if they do show up.”

Yaz summons a small smile at that, and Ryan winks at her. He turns to leave, but as he does so he trips and stumbles into the radiator, over which Jennifer’s coat is hanging to dry. The garment falls to the floor, and Ryan sighs, bending to pick it up. As he does, Jennifer’s notebook tumbles out and to the floor. Ryan considers it as he carefully tucks the coat back onto the radiator before he makes up his mind and bends down to pick it up.

Yaz has her back turned and is looking at Jennifer, at the way her lashes fall across her skin, allowing herself to stop and admire now that she can, and so she does not notice as Ryan freezes, staring down at the pages in front of him.

“Yaz…” He says.

“What?” Yaz asks, turning, and then frowns at the expression on Ryan’s face and the object in his hands. “What is it?”

“Look at this.” Ryan says, stepping towards her and holding out the notebook. Yaz hurriedly wipes her damp hands from the cloth on her borrowed sweatpants and takes the notebook.

She is greeted with the visage of a dalek, and her blood runs cold. For a panicked moment, she wonders whether it was those cold, gruesome aliens that have hurt her Doctor, but when she continues to flip through the notebook, she finds it filled with picture upon picture of all sorts of aliens and creatures. The Morax, the Cybermen, creatures Yaz does not recognise, stone statues of sorts, faces grotesque, sharp teeth glinting on the page. Yaz flips through, page after page filled with images. Her heart lurches at the sight of a burnt and ruined city, smoke rising. _Gallifrey._

 _“I have flashes of memory, flashes of fire and smoke and this stench of_ burning _in the back of my nostrils…”_

When Yaz turns to the next page, there is the face of a taunting madman looking up at her, eyes glinting with malicious glee, and her insides jolt as she comes face to face with the visage of the Master. And then on the next page…. Dark walls shaded savagely, deep lines cut into the ink with more pressure, creating tally marks, a window drawn roughly into the picture, bars dividing the lighter space.

_“The cold, it… it reminds me of something, too. It’s not just unpleasant because of what it is, but it’s like I’ve known coldness like it before.”_

“What is that?” Ryan asks her, peering down at the book.

Yaz’s eyes skate over the pages, seeing nothing and yet seeing it all at the same time. The Doctor had told them about prison, but she had never properly confided to them what it was like, and this is Yaz’s first glimpse. Her first glimpse of all the tallies which line the walls, odes to loneliness; Jennifer had told her the chilly isolation of the cabin had reminded her of something, and even this rough sketch tells Yaz exactly _what_ : prison.

“This is the Doctor.” She says to Ryan. “This is what she sees in her dreams. Being the Doctor.”

The Doctor fills the pages of the notebook, what she has seen and experienced, pieces of her, fragments in ink. Distilled onto pages from patchy memory, in the deep recesses of the mind only accessed in sleep. The Doctor is in there, lost but not forgotten.

“Is that… a prison?” Ryan asks her, his eyes wide in his face as they both draw the conclusions that have been stewing in their minds for weeks and weeks. He shakes his head, and then looks to the woman in the bed sadly. “It looks awful.”

Yaz flicks through more pages, sees the visage of a woman, lines wrinkling her face, eyes black and heavy set, looking demonic. She has a strange hat on her head. She is surrounded by symbols. Symbols, Yaz knows, that make up the Doctor’s native language of Gallifreyan. On the opposite page is a strange looking structure which swoops up into a sky, a sky crackling with clouds and what looks like lightning, looking like the storm that rages outside, depicted crudely in biro. At the bottom Yaz can make out a small figure, a figure circled, over and over, so much so that all she can discern is the figure’s small shape. It must be important, Yaz can see these pages are crinkled and scrawled with even more smaller symbols in Gallifreyan, as if Jennifer has come back to this page over and over again as her mind has taunted her, as the images now taunt Yaz.

A taunting insight.

More questions that they will most likely not get answers to. This notebook is a cruel tease, the Doctor a being only of ink and paper, her secrets committed to paper but remaining just that: secrets. Not even their keeper could tell them what they mean. No, all she has is the feeling of them, the pain.

“This is all she was, consigned to this small book.” Yaz says to Ryan, who lets out a long, heavy sigh. On the bed, Jennifer has started shifting agitatedly again, and Yaz’s heart sinks. “How much more does she have to lose? How much more do we have to go through? Why can’t they just- why can’t she just be left alone?”

“I don’t know, mate.” Ryan says, regretfully. He sighs. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

“I can’t stand not being able to help her more.” Yaz says, thinking the cloth on Jennifer’s forehead looks pityingly useless. “I want to find them, Ryan. I want to find them and _understand._ ”

Understand for both the Doctor and Jennifer. The Doctor, who has been ripped from them, and Jennifer, who must live the wounds of that ripping.

Ryan nods. “I get that, but we can’t, not right now. Right now, she is our priority.”

Of course, Yaz knows this, and they are both aware of that, but Yaz cannot ignore the anger flowing through her veins at whoever has done this, and the prospect that they might be out there, close, has adrenaline pumping through her as well. Anger and adrenaline are a dangerous mix, and her legs begin to tremble with the desire to move.

And that is when Jennifer shifts on the bed again and cries out, voice getting louder and louder, and Yaz’s adrenaline shoots to her heart and it begins to race. She discards the notebook to the bedside table and leans forwards again, putting a reassuring hand on Jennifer’s shoulder.

“Jen, it’s alright.” She soothes, feeling Ryan’s worried gaze on the both of them.

“No, no, Yaz!” Jennifer cries out, head twisting from side to side, getting more and more agitated. She sobs, “Yaz!”

“It’s okay, Jen, it’s alright.” Yaz tells her, instantly settling into a natural mode of caring for the other woman. She gently shakes her shoulder, trying to rouse her. “Wake up. Jennifer, you’re having a nightmare, it’s okay. Wake up!”

She had not expected it to work, but Jennifer’s eyelashes flutter as she turns her head in the direction of Yaz’s voice, frowning, her cries becoming quieter, small catches of breath in the back of her throat. This is the most Yaz has had from her for hours, and she grasps onto newfound hope with both hands.

Behind her, Ryan quietly leaves the room.

Yaz takes Jennifer’s hand as the other woman’s eyes flutter open, looking blearily around her for a moment before they find Yaz’s own and latch onto them, frowning slightly.

Yaz lets out a small gasp and fumbles for words for a moment, but eventually she manages to say, “…Hi.”

Jennifer blinks up at her, eyes hazy and unfocussed, not saying anything for a moment before she croaks out. “…Yaz?”

“Yes, hi!” Yaz says, relief filling her bones as she leans forward, clutching Jennifer’s hand even tighter. Part of her had been terrified that everything might have been wiped from Jennifer, that she might not even recognise her. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“Yaz,” Jennifer says, eyes glassy, slightly unfocused, still caught up in the tail end of her dreams, brow hot. “Yaz, wha-”

“It’s okay, it’s alright, you’re fine. You’re at Ryan and Graham’s.” Yaz explains, although she is not sure how much the other woman is understanding her. “I found you in the woods.” Yaz tells her, not sure how much Jennifer remembers, how cognisant she is at the moment, not wanting to scare her by saying ‘you were attacked.’

“Yaz,” Jennifer says, and her breath hitches, brow glistening with sweat. “I can’t-”

She lets out a cry, eyes clenching shut as her free hand comes up to the side of her head to press tenderly against her temple. Her temples, where the burns from the machine used on her still make red marks on the skin. 

“Jennifer? What is it? What’s wrong?” Yaz says, desperation tinting her own voice.

“My head.” Jennifer says, tone tense, fingers trembling. “It’s like it’s being ripped in part. It hurts, Yaz! It hurts! It burns!”

Tears prick at Yaz’s eyes at the desperation in the other woman’s voice and she leans forward, running her hand through Jennifer’s hair, pushing it away from her brow, wishing she could soothe the pain going on inside. This is the closest they have been, the most physically intimate, but neither woman feels any hesitation or embarrassment as Yaz desperately tries to soothe Jennifer, soothe both of them whilst she tries to understand.

“Jennifer, listen to me. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m going to look after you. You’re not going to be alone.” Yaz tells her, clinging to Jennifer’s hand tightly, needing that reassurance just as much as the other woman does. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“Yaz…” Jennifer says, breath hitching as she winces. Her eyes hold a vulnerability that is only present through the trust that has grown between the two of them over the past few weeks, something different from the trust that had sat between her and the Doctor, built from their circumstances, bringing them closer in a way Yaz has been approaching hesitantly. It is there in the way Yaz runs her hand through Jennifer’s hair, the way each woman clings to the other, hands grasped tightly. “… Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll never leave you.” Yaz says and means it one hundred times over. She had never left the Doctor, sticking with her even as the other woman chased frantically after something which has led them here, to lost memories and an identity captured only on ink and paper, now, and she does not intend to leave Jennifer now as the woman seems even more confused and distressed than she had been. “I’m not leaving.”

Jennifer lets out a sob, a true testament to how pained and exhausted she is, and Yaz shushes her under her breath, continuing to stroke her hair back from her head soothingly. The other woman’s eyes flutter closed as Yaz carries out her gentle ministrations, her ragged breathing becoming calmer, still hitching with pain, but Yaz can see her support is helping. That is something to be grateful for, to grasp at as tightly as she grasps at Jennifer’s hand.

“Just rest now.” She tells the other woman. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

This has been a harsh lesson, a reminder that whilst things have been getting better, things still remain unsolved, and trouble still lurks just around the corner. As Jennifer slips back into a disquiet sleep, what has happened to her remaining a mystery, Yaz leans her head down on the mattress, letting out a heavy sigh. Slipping into her new reality with Jennifer had not been easy, not at first, but Yaz has recently been so… _happy_ , more contented than she had been that she had allowed herself to be carried along on the smooth waters. But here they are, having hit rocks and their small boat of relative stability being thrown into choppy waters.

And who knows when they might reach the waterfall, and go tumbling over the edge and down into the deep, dark depths to drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, sorry this one was very angsty! If you're feeling like leaving a kudos and/or comment I would appreciate that so much! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	10. Between Two Women and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up a week ago, but I've got a lot of grieving to do at the moment and it's really thrown me off. Anyway, this is the final part of part one, and I really hope it doesn't disappoint! Please enjoy.

In a moment of stillness, the humans congregate.

A dread that has been prickling at the back of Yaz’s neck for the last few days bristles at the wind which blows underneath the front door, catching at the hairs. Outside, the storm rages on, the third day in a row. It feels eternal, a nightmare they are stuck in, as Jennifer is stuck in her own. Yaz shivers, feeling constantly on edge. 

The woman in question is sleeping upstairs. Sleeping peacefully, it seems, for the first time in those long days, and Yaz has taken the chance to slip away from her side to grab a cup of tea with Ryan and Graham downstairs. She has barely left the other woman’s side, only to grab some clothes from her flat, dodging her mother’s questioning, and to phone into work, citing a family emergency, and subtly ignoring the implication from her sergeant that they need to talk about her driving off in a police car whilst off duty. 

“You okay, mate?” Ryan asks her quietly, sat next to her on the sofa, hands clasped together in his lap. Ryan has sat diligently on duty with golf club for the past three days, even skipping a couple of lectures so that they would not be left alone, just in case they face an attack from whoever- _whatever-_ had apprehended Jennifer. But there has been no sign of them. Yaz has been left in a constant state of tension, anticipating every strange sound to be those men, and whatever it had been that was possessing them, but there has been nothing.

“Yeah.” Yaz replies to Ryan’s question absentmindedly, feeling weariness in every muscle, and deep in her bones. Ryan watches her carefully, but says nothing more.

“Here we go.” Graham says as he comes into the room, tray laden with tea in hands. Yaz accepts her with a small smile, grateful for the warmth the beverage brings as she clasps it in her hands. Graham settles down in the armchair opposite the two of them, sighing heavily. There is a moment of silence, and then Ryan speaks.

“So… do you think they’re coming back?”

Yaz shrugs. “Surely if they were, they’d have done so by now?”

“Seems odd there was no sign of them directly after.” Graham chimes in. “Like they’ve retreated.”

“Or got what they came for.” Yaz ponders, the same thoughts that have been going round and round in her head as she has sat by Jennifer’s bedside. “Came to do what they needed to do.”

There is a pause. “… And what’s that?” Ryan tentatively asks.

Yaz shakes her head, digging the fingers of her three hand into her thigh, frustration rising. “I don’t know.”

Graham considers her for a moment. “Has she been any more lucid?”

Yaz shakes her head. “Only to say she’s in pain. Says her head feels like it’s being split in two. Like her _mind_ is.”

Ryan trails his finger up and down the side of his mug. “What if…” He begins to hypothesise. “Say it were these aliens that did this, maybe they wanted to look into her mind, see if they could find the Doctor?”

Yaz considers this, having thought much the same thing over the past few days. It is clear the damage they have done has been mental, no physical injury upon Jennifer’s body, only the fever and headache which come as a result of the mental pain. They have been stubbornly persistent, the fever only breaking last night, which Yaz hopes it is a good sign, hopes this means Jennifer is getting better, but what that means for her mental state, she can only speculate. The woman has not been very with it, and each time she has been conscious she has complained of pain and been calling for Yaz, something which twists her stomach and sends her heart racing all at the same time, a sickening mix.

“See if they could… I don’t know, bring her back, or something? See if she’s still in there?” Ryan suggests. “I mean, we know she is because of the notebook!”

Yaz sighs and shakes her head. “No. It doesn’t make sense they’d want to bring her back, not if they did this to her in the first place.”

“Then maybe it was something else?” Graham offers,

“But _what?_ ” Yaz says to him, perhaps a little too harshly, but he does not begrudge her; it has been a tense past few days, and they have all been cooped up inside. “No, I think you’re right Ryan, in that if this is _them,_ the things that did this to her, then they were looking for her. But not to bring her back, but to make sure she stays buried.”

“Then why is Jennifer in so much pain like this?” Ryan asks her.

Yaz gives him her hypothesis, something which has come out of a gut feeling. In desperately trying to cast her mind back to those memories foggy in her mind, the Doctor’s scream and the shouting, Yaz has felt a crawling down the back of her spine which tells her she is right. “Whatever they did to her, it messed with her mind, that’s for sure. Almost like they… dredged it all up, disturbed the ocean floor, and now we’ve got to give it time to all settle down again.”

Graham nods pensively at that, taking a sip of his tea. “That fits, explains why she’s been having these nightmares.”

“Maybe we need to see, if she’s lucid- _when_ she’s lucid.” Ryan corrects himself at Yaz’s pained expression. “If she remembers anything anew about the Doctor, ‘bout all that’s in her notebook.”

Yaz nods. “I just don’t want to push her too much. It’s horrible seeing her in pain like this.”

“I know, love.” Graham says kindly. “But considering the circumstances, you’re doing amazing. Both of you are.”

Ryan sends his grandad a bashful smile. “Thanks, gramps.”

“Considering the circumstances of the past few weeks, and months, I know things weren’t particularly rosy with the Doc before, Yaz,” Graham says. “I think we’re all doing a smashing job.”

Ryan raises his mug in the air in agreement, but Yaz can only summon a small smile. With Jennifer upstairs, resting but far from recovered, she cannot help but feel like she is not doing enough, that even her best this time is not enough, despite it being all she can give. Who knows what condition Jennifer might be in when- if- she properly recovers? Will she even be herself anymore? What might being ‘herself’ mean if the stability of her being the way she is is threatened? Who will she be if she remembers being the Doctor, but is no longer the Doctor? With only one pulse, she is still as human as them, seemingly, but if she has a Timelord’s memories in her mind, what might that do to her? Surely there is more Yaz should be doing than bathing her brow and _waiting_ by her side, even if she is providing Jennifer the comfort she needs in her presence.

She is torn in two by a double-edged sword. It slices one side with hope that maybe the Doctor might be recovered from this, dredged from forgotten memory, and slices the other with a deep sadness that perhaps her time with Jennifer is over as she has known it. That the tentative intimacy of their relationship as it had developed differently from hers with the Doctor is now lost. The blade is also dipped in guilt on both sides: guilt that if the Doctor were to come back, Jennifer is lost, and guilt that if Jennifer remains, the Doctor is lost.

There is the irony, the rub, of seeing Jennifer as her own person, on level ground with the Doctor, not better or worse: Yaz cannot have both, and now they are both threatened, she is being ripped apart by that fact. The blade splits her open and leaves her unable to understand her own feelings.

There is so much on the line here, Yaz feels she must walk it very carefully, but with each step it wobbles underneath here, and threatens to send her toppling, right down onto the tip of that blade. 

* * *

It is a day later when Jennifer finally opens her eyes and sees not just pain and visions left over in dregs from her nightmares, but the light streaming in through the window, and Yaz sat beside her.

Yaz starts as she sees the other woman begin to shift, letting out a light groan, and her heart jumps in her chest when the other woman’s eyes flicker open and meet her own. They stare at Yaz, confused, for a moment, before recognition fills them.

Yaz hesitates, two names on the tip of her tongue, not sure which one to use, not sure _who_ sits behind those tired eyes.

She tries one, tentatively.

“…Doctor?”

Jennifer frowns, blinking a few times.

“…What?” She asks, voice croaky.

Yaz lets out a long breath, unsure if she is crippled by relief, disappointment, or guilt at both those feelings. The tip of the sword pokes her skin. But this might not mean anything, obviously Jennifer is still groggy. Yaz just needs to give her more time… She slides off the bed to kneel beside it, coming face to face with Jennifer.

“Sorry,” She says, “It’s been a long few days.”

“What’s… what happened?” Jennifer asks her, blinking around, looking more coherent. “Everything’s so fuzzy.”

“You were… sick.” Yaz settles on. “It was your head, you’ve said it was like it was splitting in two.”

“Did the sickness cause it?” Jennifer asks her, a hand appearing from under the covers to rub at her eyes. “Was it the flu?”

Yaz bites the inside of her lip. Should she keep the truth from Jennifer? She does not want to upset her further by telling her she was attacked by the men she thought she had dealt with, especially when it wasn’t really them, but something possessing them.

“What do you remember?” She asks instead, trying to get a gauge. When Jennifer closes her eyes, wincing, she adds, “Don’t push too hard, it’s alright.”

“I… I can’t remember anything.” Jennifer admits, slight panic in her eyes as she looks to Yaz. “The last thing I remember was us going for lunch. We had fried egg sandwiches.”

Yaz nods. That was last week, the day before the attack. So, she remembers nothing of the attack, then, but perhaps with time she will. Diplomatically, Yaz answers her initial question, “I found you in the woodland, you’d collapsed. So, I brought you here…”

Jennifer looks around her a little warily. “…Here?”

She really does not remember anything, then, not even the other night. No wonder if her head is such a mess. “Graham and Ryan’s.” Yaz explains. She wets her lips with her tongue. She holds off suggesting Jennifer stay here from now on, best not to overwhelm.

Jennifer lets out a sigh, sinking back into the pillows. “Yaz… I’m sorry.”

Yaz frowns. “Why are _you_ sorry?”

“My bloody head.” Jennifer mutters, gently massaging her brow with her fingers. In the low, dark light, the shiny skin of the burns at her temples becomes more obvious, and Yaz shudders.

“Don’t be sorry, you numpty.” Yaz says affectionately, feeling tears catch at the back of her throat. Tears for Jennifer, tears for herself, tears for the Doctor, who remains, seemingly, lost. After all of this, still lost, and Yaz does not know how to feel about that fact. “S’not your fault.”

“Yaz…” Jennifer says again, breath hitching, tears in her own eyes, and Yaz hiccups, biting back a sob. “Please…”

“Please what?” Yaz asks, concerned Jennifer is becoming delirious again.

The hand that is not rubbing at her forehead stretches out towards Yaz for her to take. Yaz does, feeling spindly figures wrap around her own. “I need…”

“Need what?” Yaz asks, leaning forward on the mattress. Obviously, Jennifer is still groggy and half awake, not quite with it still.

“…You.” Jennifer asks, and Yaz’s eyes widen, thoughts unbidden and salacious whizzing through her mind before her heart breaks in two and she climbs up onto the mattress, getting under the covers with the other woman. She does not think about anything but being, in that moment, the one person who Jennifer wants to look after her as she gathers the other woman in her arms, Jennifer’s back to her chest, settling the duvet over them. She does not think about anything but how reassuring it is to feel the solid weight of the other woman’s body. She is here, no matter what state her mind is in, and Yaz can be there for her.

At least she has this. Jennifer’s trust, wholly and unadulterated.

She clings as tightly to Jennifer as Jennifer clings to her. 

* * *

Over the next few days, Yaz tentatively prods at Jennifer as the woman spends more and more time awake, testing if any of the memories consigned to a notebook have come loose, if she remembers being the Doctor. The pain in the other woman’s head has settled into a dull throbbing a little more manageable than the stabbing pain of before, but it hurts her to think too much, and so Yaz is stuck waiting, unable to understand what she feels and feeling conflicted because of that. Although, it seems there is no rush for them to be knowing what they are dealing with: it is not like the aliens, or whatever had done this, are hurrying to attack them once again.

She spends every night sleeping with Jennifer in the single bed in the spare room. Ever since that first day she had regained consciousness and been coherent, she has been anxious that Yaz stay, and Yaz had been too anxious in return to leave her. But she is exhausted, her sleep has been broken with her own worry and also with Jennifer’s nightmares, which seem to physically pain her, with this new ache in her head. It has only been the feeling of the other woman’s body in her arms that has grounded her, even as she wonders what the Doctor might think of Yaz holding her body like she does, whether she would have minded the tactile element that has grown in Yaz’s relationship with Jennifer, whether she is in there somewhere-

Yaz is torn, is tearing, is coming apart.

Caught between two women and a hard place.

But as the days span out, Yaz gets a crawling feeling on the back of her neck, as she had when they had speculated who (or what) had attacked Jennifer, a crawling feeling which tell her that any hope, no matter how badly it mixes with her other emotions, is all for naught.

A week after Jennifer’s attack, Yaz wakes slowly, swimming peacefully up to the surface of consciousness, and finds two hazel eyes staring at her. She starts a little, letting out a heavy breath, and blinks to clear her blurred vision.

“Jennifer? You okay?” She asks, voice croaky with sleep. At least she had slept, she thinks.

“…Yeah.” The other woman replies vaguely, eyes thoughtful as she looks at Yaz.

“How’s your head feelin’?” Yaz asks her. She resists the urge to brush away the strand of hair that falls in front of Jennifer’s face, but the thought of the Doctor stops her. Ironic how it seems the Doctor has become Jennifer’s shadow, now, in Yaz’s perspective, haunting. Hovering, unknown.

The other woman pulls a face as she winces. “Do you think it will ever stop?”

Yaz sighs, and for both their sakes says, “It’s been getting better. It’ll just take time.”

“I didn’t know the flu could do that.” Jennifer says, rubbing her eyes. “But I suppose my head’s messed up enough it could do _anything_ and it’d be affected.”

“Hey, stop that.” Yaz tells her, and she does lean forward and take her hand, pulling it away from her face so she can look her in the eyes and say, “Stop putting yourself down. This is not your fault.”

_This is mine._

It all flashes before her eyes, then. The very start of all this, running out of the Tardis doors, tired of being kept from knowing the truth, tired of the Doctor’s shielded eyes. Finding Jennifer, eyes wary, unrecognising of Yaz, scared and cold. The growing trust between them, built on Jennifer’s ignorance and Yaz’s _weakness._ Jennifer lying on the cold, wet ground, the men over her, Jennifer screaming in pain… All of this had started because Yaz had wanted to know the truth. And in being rash, she has created a world of pain for the both of them.

The rational part of her mind tells her this cannot and _is_ not wholly her fault, that the Doctor is at blame here, too, for keeping her secrets so close to her chest and yet, after everything, still wanting Yaz to trust her, for tagging her along on a wild goose chase. In fact, the matter of blame isn’t even important here, not anymore, they are too far down this long winding road for that to matter, but it rises to the surface like a dead carcass of a fish, poisoned by the hideous mix of emotions in Yaz’s brain-

“Is that my…?” Jennifer’s tentative questioning snaps Yaz out of her whirlpool of thoughts and feelings, and she blinks, turning to where Jennifer is looking with her eyes. The notebook sits, looking deceptively innocent, upon the bedside table. Yaz swallows, turning back to Jennifer.

“Yeah. Sorry.” She apologises, and then lies. “It was in your coat, which got wet, so we thought it best to put it there for safekeeping.”

Jennifer winces, fingers brushing against the burn on her left temple. “Did you… did you look inside?”

Yaz takes a deep breath in, feeling that sword stabbing her insides with even more guilt as she lies even more, “No. I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

Jennifer shrugs, and shuffles to try and sit upright. Yaz immediately moves to help her, until they both are resting against the wall. Jennifer tries to reach for the notebook, but when Yaz cottons on to what she is doing, she leans over instead and passes it to her.

“I don’t know if it would make much of a difference.” Jennifer says, taking the notebook from Yaz. “S’not like most of it makes any sense. They’re just dreams, weird visions I see, I don’t understand any of them when I actually look at them after. Sometimes it just helps to get them down.” She opens the notebook, flicking through the pages. “I don’t even- agh!”

She winces in pain and drops the notebook open on the pages which are scribbled with the smoky remains of Gallifrey, the face of that old woman, her eyes dark holes boring into Yaz’s soul. Yaz jumps, sitting up further, leaning over Jennifer.

“Hey? Jennifer, what is it?”

“Just a sudden… sharp pain.” Jennifer explains, prodding carefully at her head.

“You’re still recovering, remember.” Yaz reminds her, settling back when Jennifer raises her head again, looking peaky but not as deathly ill as she has the past few days. “Probably going to be a while before it settles.”

Jennifer nods, and attempts to pick up the notebook again to look at it, but the moment she does she winces once more, hand flying to her head. Yaz’s eyes narrow, her heart beginning to thump.

“Why is it-” Jennifer asks, experimentally tentatively picking up the notebook but putting it down again when she looks at the pages. “Why is it when I look at the notebook?”

“I…” Yaz falters, a theory fizzling on the edges of her mind but she ignores it, cannot acknowledge it, _will_ not, for it is too devastating and far too much with all she is currently feeling. “I don’t know.”

Jennifer tries it again, hissing in pain once more, and Yaz gently takes the notebook from her, trying to hide the slight shaking in her fingers. She places it on the nightstand. “It might just be because you’re trying to concentrate.” She suggests, and when Jennifer frowns, thinking, trying to remember, Yaz can tell, because like the Doctor Jennifer pushes and pushes and sometimes does not know when to stop, she puts a hand on the other woman’s and brings it down to settle in her lap. “It might be too much just yet. Just take it easy.”

Jennifer nods again, a small jerking movement as she fights off the pain in her head, her eyes clenched shut. “What the hell… is wrong with me?”

With the other woman’s eyes closed, Yaz shakes her head, feeling helpless. That crawling feeling is creeping down her neck again, telling her what she thinks she already knows, but is refusing to acknowledge.

She will give it a few more days.

Just a few more days. 

* * *

And Yaz does give it a few more days, and avoids her feelings and ignores the storm building inside her and the one still battering outside and focusses on getting Jennifer well fed and hydrated. Her breath staggers and start as she helps the other woman brush her hair out after she had taken a much needed shower. Her heart hammers when Jennifer still gets the most shocking pain in her head every time she opens the notebook or tries to think beyond the weeks when Yaz had entered her life (for the second time, unbeknownst to her). Her hands get sweaty when the other woman wakes in the night with unknown terrors stalking her dreams, visions she cannot remember and could never explain.

There is something wrong with her, and Yaz knows what it is. She just does not want to tell herself that. For she does not know how to fix it, or whether it _can_ be fixed.

The breaking point comes ten days after the incident, and Yaz is heading up the stairs with a glass of water in one hand and a fried egg sandwich on a plate in the other; it seems that Jennifer’s taste in food has not changed from the Doctor’s. She is dogging calls from work and her mother’s concern over what exactly is keeping her so long at Ryan and Graham’s on top of everything else, and she can feel exhaustion dragging her feet down as she plods up the carpeted stairs. It is a short walk across the landing to reach the spare room, and she sighs as she opens it.

She falters in the doorway.

Jennifer is perched upon the bed, head in her hands, pen and her notebook discarded on top of the covers. Her shoulders are shaking, trembling, and Yaz shakes herself, moving swiftly to place the glass and pate on the bedside table before kneeling at Jennifer’s side.

“Jen? What’s wrong?” She asks, asking the obvious really, but the tears are concerning. Jennifer had cried when she had been delirious, overcome with the pain, but now it seems more manageable Yaz is put on high alert, especially when added to the fact that she has the notebook open. Yaz glances to the pages it is open on, but sees they are blank.

“I just want to get this pain out of my head.” Jennifer explains, voice clogged with tears. She sniffs. “I thought if I could write down what was bothering me, like I’ve always done, then it might be better. But I _can’t._ Every time I try, I can’t remember and it hurts too much to try, and none of it makes sense, Yaz, and now I can’t even write it down and I just…”

She breaks off, sobbing, her shoulders hunching forward, and in that moment Yaz feels something in her break, too. She can no longer ignore what she has been fearing, and her heart feels like a piece of paper, scrunched up, thrown away by fate’s uncaring hand. Her mouth trembles, and she sinks forward, pulling Jennifer into her arms, ignoring what her head says about whether or not the Doctor would want this.

The Doctor is gone.

That is what she had feared. The Doctor is properly gone. She is staying buried, to the point where it physically pains Jennifer to even look at the images she sees in her dreams, to even think of being anything other than what she has become by the intervention of those strange creatures who do not show themselves. Yaz does not even know what they look like: they had possessed the men and had previously messed with her mind so that their confrontation had become a blurred rush of noise and feeling in her head. They do not even have the _courage_ to show their faces to Yaz and tell her what they have done. Fury rises in the mist of her mind, overcoming grief, taking over her torn feelings over Jennifer and the Doctor and consuming them all. In that moment, all she wants to do is fight.

But the woman she has been through this all for is sobbing in her arms, and she desperately needs Yaz’s comfort and Yaz needs her. She holds Jennifer tighter, smelling the fruity scent of the shampoo she has been using.

“I’m never going to get it back, am I?” Jennifer asks her, and Yaz clenches her eyes closed. “I’m never going to remember what I was before.”

“I don’t think so, no.” Yaz answers honestly, no room left for prevarication in soothing words. She lets out a ragged breath, running a hand over the other woman’s back. She glances to the notebook, and with the hand not running soothingly along Jennifer’s back she reaches out and plucks it from the sheets. She closes it and grasps it tight in her fist. The Doctor is gone. “Do you want me to take the notebook away?”

Jennifer nods into the crook of Yaz’s neck, sniffing. Yaz holds her tighter, trying to keep both of them together. “I’m sorry.” She whispers into her ear. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“S’not your fault.” Jennifer tells her, her voice lower than usual with her grief. “In fact, you’re the only thing holding me together right now.”

Her words hurt Yaz like she is being wrought in two by that double-edged sword, and it is too much, then, all too much. Jennifer’s gratitude, her presence, as much as Yaz needs it, she just needs to get away in that moment, get her head on straight, find something to punch a hole through…

She gently prises herself from Jennifer’s grip, putting her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. Jennifer looks confusedly back at her, face red and eyes streaming. Yaz wets her lips with her tongue. “I just need to go and do something. I’ll be right back, but I just need to…”

“Yaz?” Jennifer questions, but Yaz is already getting to her feet, head buzzing.

“I’ll be back.” She promises.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jennifer asks anxiously.

“No!” Yaz immediately reassures her, reaching the door. “No, you haven’t. Just… got to put this somewhere.” She says, holding up the notebook. “I’ll be back.”

And before Jennifer can say anything more, Yaz is slipping through the doorway and out onto the landing. She barely takes it in as she heads downstairs, grabbing her coat from the pegs by the front door.

“Yaz? You okay?” Ryan asks, coming into the hall from the living room.

“Hide this, will you?” Yaz asks, shoving the notebook into his chest. She does not want to see it, it hurts too much, as much as it hurts Jennifer’s head. “I just need to…”

“Yaz?” Ryan asks again, even more concerned now, but Yaz is already shucking on her coat and heading out the door, the wood banging shut behind her.

People and places pass by her in a blur as she heads out towards the park. The wind is bitterly cold, whipping her hair around her face, but she feels warm, boiling from the inside with anger. A maelstrom of emotions tearing her apart.

She makes it to the park in record time, and the muscles in her legs are screaming at her but she does not listen, too preoccupied with the screaming in her head. The Doctor’s screaming, all those months ago, the start of all this, the screaming of her feelings as she tries to get her head around all she is feeling. The screaming of her anger…

Yaz screams, then. She screams and screams as she makes her way into the woodland. The pain and agony of weeks’ worth of emotional turmoil: the tension from before the Doctor had disappeared, the shock of seeing her transformed into Jennifer, the grappling with her feelings as she had tried to come to terms with what the Doctor had become, her growing feelings of affection for Jennifer, born from an infatuation of who she used to be, adapting and changing as the Doctor has changed into Jennifer. And then… the worry and fear over what had happened with those men, the kindling hope that they might somehow get the Doctor back, fighting against her feelings for Jennifer, and then the swooping grief and anger she feels now, knowing the Doctor won’t be coming back, not without Jennifer hurting, not without Jenifer dying-

Because that is the main problem, here. Yaz has divided the woman into two in her mind and put them upon a level playing field, so that one cannot exist whilst the other does. And Yaz is being pulled between them as she fails the Doctor in not being able to help her, but feels like she is betraying Jennifer by being guilt-tripped by the Doctor.

“Come on, then!” She shouts into the winter air, her words bouncing off trees and back at her, echoing in the space. “What do you want?”

There is no response except for bird call, a sharp staccato in the air. Yaz’s chest is heaving, her entire body aches with emotions. She is desperate for answers, desperate for certainty as she cannot find it in her heart and her head. But of course, the aliens, the _things,_ whatever they are, do not answer, are most likely not there. But, oh does it help to scream as if they were.

“Answer me!” She cries. Normally so composed and in control, Yaz has finally reached her tipping point. “What do you want?!”

“Yaz!”

Yaz turns, eyes wide and wet, to see Ryan jogging through the woodland to catch up with her. He looks out of breath, so he must have followed her soon after her hasty departure from the house.

“Yaz! What’s going on?” Ryan asks once he reaches her, putting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

Yaz shakes her head, unable to find the words to begin to explain the storm inside her mind. “I- She’s gone, Ryan. I think she’s properly gone this time.”

“The Doctor?” Ryan clarifies, and when Yaz nods he sucks on the inside of his cheeks as he thinks, pensive. “Is this because of the pain thing? With Jennifer?”

“She can’t think of anything of being the Doctor without being in _agony_.” Yaz shakes her head. “ _They_ did that on purpose, didn’t they? They were messing with her mind when I found her because they were making it so she could never be found, not without tearing her other self apart, not without basically _killing herself_ in the process.”

Ryan sighs, heavily, suddenly looking as weary as Yaz feels. “This is terrible.”

“And…” Yaz sniffs, shaking her head, the words feeling like poison on her lips as she speaks them, suddenly terrified of what Ryan will think. “And the thing is… I’m not _completely_ unhappy about that.”

There is a pause in which Ryan hears her words and absorbs her. It seems eerily quiet in the woodland. Even the birds have finished their song. Yaz looks to Ryan desperately, tears glistening in her eyes. “What does that make me, Ry? Am I… am I taking advantage of her?”

“Of who? Jennifer?” Ryan asks, confused.

“No! The Doctor!” Yaz replies, getting flustered, getting overwhelmed again. “If we can’t even bring her back, couldn’t even look after her as she is now, as _Jennifer,_ and then I go and get _close_ with Jennifer whilst the Doctor remains buried and as scribbled pages in a cheap notebook… Maybe we haven’t done enough to help her.”

“We did the best we could, _all_ we could.” Ryan says, keeping calm, reasonable. “You know that, Yaz. There’s nothing we could have done. The Doctor told us life with her was dangerous, there’s nothing you can do sometimes to avoid the danger.”

“We could have gotten her out of that horrid cabin sooner! She might have been safe sooner!” Yaz counters. The cabin in question sits just beyond the line of trees behind Yaz’s shoulder, a looming lump of a shadow.

“And they probably would have got to her another way.” Ryan says, shrugging. “Yaz, we don’t know what we’re up against. Don’t know how they- _it_ \- works. We’re doing the best we can.”

Yaz sighs, hearing Ryan’s words and knowing he is right. Dealing with whatever had attacked Jennifer is like trying to navigate a pitch black room with a blindfold on.

“Yaz, why do you think you’re taking advantage of the Doctor?” Ryan asks, taking a step towards her. “Because you care for Jennifer?”

“It’s more than care.” Yaz says, not meeting Ryan’s eyes, instead casting her gaze to the woodland floor. It is frosted under her feet, leaves crunchy. “It’s not just looking out for her whilst we figure this all out, whilst we tried to find the Tardis. It’s more, it’s… she’s something else to me, Ryan. Someone else.”

“Me and Graham see her as someone else, too.” Ryan says. “I was doubtful before, but you were right, she’s the same but different, and that makes her her own person. And… she’s great Yaz, in a way similar to the Doctor, but different. Like… a sibling, or something.”

“Yes, but my case is _different!_ ” Yaz replies, throwing her hands up into the air before bringing them down to clutch at her hair. “When I say I care for her, I mean I…”

Yaz breaks off, biting the inside of her cheek.

“You love her?” Ryan asks, like it is no surprise at all.

Yaz clenches her eyes shut, and nods despondently.

“Yaz… that’s okay.” Ryan says kindly, and Yaz hears him take another step towards her.

“It’s not, it really isn’t.” Yaz replies, shaking her head. She looks up at him with tear-bejewelled eyes. “The Doctor is gone, most likely forever and here I am falling for the person in her place. But not only that, this love has grown out of what came before _for_ the Doctor. Because I loved _her_ and now she’s gone but the woman she is now is just as amazing and brilliant in her own way! But she doesn’t know why she is the way she is, she does not know who she was before, so either way I feel like I’m deceiving her and taking advantage of her- _her_ the Doctor and _her_ Jennifer- and that makes me disgusted with myself.”

“Yaz, please stop talking about yourself like that. I don’t think it’s all as bad as that.” Ryan says. “We said before Jennifer was attacked that we had to work with what we had. We- _you-_ had to be there for Jennifer whilst we figured out what was going on, what she remembered. And it’s like you said, she’s her own person, now, but if she _comes_ from the Doctor, who you loved before… mate, of _course_ you were going to fall for her. That does not make you a bad person!”

Yaz does not know what to say, her head still whirling with all she feels, all her doubts, all her sadness.

“Yaz,” Ryan says, taking one more step towards her, so that they are only a foot apart. “I know we’ve been saying that both Jennifer and the Doctor are two different people in their own right, and I’m not questioning that, but that doesn’t mean the Doctor is going to pop in one day and ask what you’ve been doing whilst she was away. It’s not as simple as that. None of this is. We don’t know what could happen, and I don’t think it’s worth torturing ourselves over the possibilities. And I don’t think it’s worth you torturing yourself over your feelings, too. The Doctor wouldn’t want that for you, would she? She’d want you to be happy, and if what makes you happy, and what makes _Jennifer_ happy too is the both of you being together, then I think you should grab onto that.”

Yaz sighs. Her foot taps against the ground, the cold sinking into her skin. Ryan’s words are a way out of her storm of thoughts, an offer of a small kindling of hope, but she is still being held back by indecision. “But either way, I’m still lying to her. Keeping the truth from her of who she really is.”

Ryan takes another step forward so he can reach out and touch her arm, and Yaz brings her gaze to meet his, sees the genuine honesty in his eyes. Ryan, who has stuck by her throughout all of this chaos of the past few weeks, of the past few days, and remains, still, a pillar to lean on. “Yaz, I’m not saying settle _for_ her, but I am saying settle _with_ her. We don’t know what could happen, what has happened, not completely, and we cannot keep getting caught up in all we do not know. If the both of you make each other happy at this time, at this moment, then stick with that, hold onto that. You can only work with what you have now. You cannot keep speculating about what might have been or what might be.”

Yaz lets out a long breath, and feels something in her chest relax for the first time in days. She remembers the conversation she and Jennifer had shared in the scrap metal junkyard a few weeks ago, how the other woman had confessed that with Yaz by her side, feeling less alone, she had been less afraid of all she did not know, the cavern in her head where her memories should have been. Yaz realises now that nothing has changed in this regard. There has been a faint glimmer of hope in the last few days, light reflecting off the blade of that double-edged sword that has been stabbing painfully into her ribs, that the Doctor might return from the fog in Jennifer’s mind, but now Yaz is coming to accept that instead she remains lost, ink on paper in a ratty notebook. She is coming to accept, and Ryan is coming to make her realise, that she can still be there for Jennifer, does not have to shy away from her feelings for the other woman because, really, what else do they have in this moment? What else but each other?

The storm in her mind is clearing, fresh sunlight hits the bruised and beaten parts of Yaz’s heart and soothes the pain. They can still go on from here, this is not the end, but is, instead perhaps, a tentative beginning.

“Thank you, Ry.” She whispers to the man stood by her. “For everything.”

Ryan tuts and shoves her arm lightly, a good-natured smile on his face. “What you thanking me for? Honestly, I’m so sick and tired of seeing you two dancing ‘round each other that I’m doing all of us a favour.”

Yaz smirks at that, and Ryan smiles widely back to see her relaxing. “Come on, we should head back. It’s absolutely freezing.”

Yaz nods, but she glances back at the lonely cabin sitting there on its own, a shadowy mass against the trunks of the trees. “Let’s just grab some of Jen’s stuff first. I don’t think we’ll be returning.”

And Yaz means that. She does not want to return to this shady wood and moulding cabin, a cold and uninhabitable space. No, Jennifer has somewhere new to stay, somewhere warm and comforting, where she will be surrounded by her family. They have no need for the cabin anymore, it has served its purpose, but its usefulness is over. They have a new home to build.

And Yaz is finally beginning to see the sky through the clouds, see the promise of that new home, and she holds on tight. 

* * *

“Yaz! Where did you go?” Jennifer asks her when she and Ryan return, weary and wind-beaten, and Yaz offers her an apologetic smile, placing the plastic bag full of Jennifer’s things they had collected from the cabin down in the hall. She can hear Graham clattering around in the kitchen, and Ryan moves past her, offering Jennifer a small smile, to most likely tell Graham all that has happened. The older man has surely been concerned.

“Sorry for running out like that.” She begins, sitting down on the sofa next to Jennifer. She and Graham had been watching Call the Midwife together, Yaz notices from the DVD boxset sat on the coffee table, the empty mugs of tea, and that thought warms her heart. “It just upsets me to see _you_ so upset, and I just needed a moment to get myself together.”

“Oh, Yaz…” Jennifer says, face creasing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologise.” Yaz says, putting her hand over Jennifer’s, chasing away her doubts, remembering Ryan’s words. “It’s all okay.”

Jennifer smiles at her, and Yaz, feeling bolder, brings her hand up to the other woman’s face and gently strokes the back of her fingers across her hairline, from brow to ear. Jennifer’s shivers a little under her touch, but soon after melts into it, and Yaz feels her heart palpitate as she wonders how she could ever have resisted in the face of Jennifer. She never had in the face of the Doctor, after all. “How’s your head feeling?”

Jennifer pulls a face. This close, Yaz can see her skin is still a little red and haggard from crying. “Tender, but I’m trying to just relax and not… push.”

“Good idea.” Yaz says. “Just let it be, for now. We can worry about whatever comes when it comes.”

Words so easy to say now so hard to realise beforehand, but telling Jennifer feels right, reassuring her of that feels right, and Yaz feels herself breath easy.

“I’ve got you some of your things from the cabin, so you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.” Yaz says, nodding her head in the direction of the hallway, of the plastic bag sat by the bottom of the stairs. Jennifer looks to it, taking a shaky breath. She looks back to Yaz.

“I don’t think I do want to go back.” She admits, and Yaz nods, secretly relieved.

“That’s all okay.” She assures. “Graham and Ryan are more than happy for you to stay with them. That spare room’s yours as far as they’re concerned.”

Jennifer nods, her eyes glancing towards the kitchen, where the two men are. “They’ve been so good about this. You all have been. Thank you, so much.”

“No need to thank me.” Yaz assures her, pushing down her guilt, the small voice that says she is a liar, that she has not done enough to help the woman in front of her, and focusses, instead, on the woman herself. The living being she is. “We couldn’t carry your machine and all those bits. I’m sorry, but I can go back for them if-”

“No, it’s alright.” Jennifer assures her. “They weren’t anything. Just… bits and bobs. I can always start afresh.”

Yaz nods. Yes. They can always start afresh. How timely those words are.

And when a couple of hours later, when they are all four of them huddled around the television, fish and chips devoured, at Graham’s insistence watching even _more_ Call the Midwife, and Jennifer’s falls asleep with her head on Yaz’s shoulder, curled up into the other woman’s side, Ryan gives Yaz a knowing look. A look that says: start afresh, don’t get bogged down in all you do not know and all you could have potentially done, because all you have is today. And, Yaz thinks, as she allows herself to rest her head on top of the other woman’s, all she has is Jennifer. And she thinks she is okay with that. 

* * *

The late afternoon sun bathes them in warm light and reflects off the windows of the buildings that gather around them as Yaz and Jennifer make their meandering way through Sheffield city centre, reminding Yaz of a planet the Doctor had taken them to, once. It had been made from crystals, its very being had been crystal, and it had been mesmerising. Yaz remembers the way the Doctor’s hair had caught at the light, her bright eyes shining, teeth gleaming as she had smiled. She is getting better, now, at remembering those times fondly, and keeping her grief and agitation at the unanswered questions in check, there but no longer worth torturing herself over.

She and Jennifer stroll along the streets of the city, no route planned, just simply walking along together, Jennifer slowly getting back her strength after so long spent lying down. She is getting better with everyday that passes, it is neatly two weeks since the incident, and new colour has flooded her face, her head aches less intensely. They are the both of them recovering.

Yaz, however, despite her best efforts, cannot help but glance around as they walk, looking out for the two men and their cold, flat, alien eyes. She had chosen the city centre for the reason that it would be more populated, that there would be less chance, should the men attack again, of them getting her and Jennifer alone. Besides, Jennifer did not seem too keen on going to the park and the woods, so the park it was.

“When are you going back to work, Yaz?” Jennifer asks her, her breath blowing plumes out into the chilly, stilted air.

Yaz quirks an eyebrow her way, briefly distracted from her glancing by Jennifer’s question. They have been walking in peaceable silence for most of the time. “What are you saying? Sick of me hanging about?”

“No!” Jennifer immediately protests, turning to her. “No, that wasn’t what I was saying- hang on, you’re joking, aren’t you?”

Yaz laughs lightly as the other woman catches on, and Jennifer shoves her lightly, smiling herself.

“I only meant that it’s been a while since you were there, because you’ve been looking after me.” Jennifer says. “I’m just… worried I’ve made you mess it up.”

“I haven’t messed it up.” Yaz says, wincing to think of how she has very much been avoiding talking to her boss after the car incident, how she really is running out of days to be away on a ‘family emergency’, especially now with Jennifer getting better. “But I should speak to my boss soon about going back. Now you’re a bit better.”

Jennifer nods, and they continue on their walk, entering into the Peace Gardens, a quiet space in the city centre, which at this late hour is not as busy as Yaz normally sees it on her patrols. There are still a fair few people milling around, which reassures Yaz. Getting back to work, getting back to life, finding a steady rhythm after the furious tempo of Jennifer’s attack.

She glances a strip of skin, then, a bald head which catches the light of the sun and reflects it, and her breathing gets stilted.

“Yaz? Are you alright?” Jennifer asks her. “Only you seem a little preoccupied.”

“Hmm? Yeah, m’fine.” Yaz assures her, as she cranes her neck to keep sight of the man. Only one man, not two, and when he turns his head- no, he looks nothing like the men had. She lets out a long breath.

“Yaz!”

“Hmm?” Yaz blinks, looking to Jennifer, how has a concerned furrow in her brow. When Yaz meets her eyes, however, she sees understanding, and Jennifer sighs, bringing them to a stop on the pavement. People mill past, grumbling, but too busy with their Christmas shopping to stop. Jennifer smiles kindly at Yaz.

“Are you worried about the men?” She asks, and Yaz sighs, biting her lip. She nods.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Yaz tries to explain. “We don’t know where they are, whether they might attack you again. I mean, what if they’re just out there _waiting_ for you?”

“Then I’ll be ready.” Jennifer replies, and Yaz is taken aback by the confidence in her tone. It reminds her of how she had been before- before the attack, when she had been slowly coming after her shell, and from… _before._ “If they come again, I’ll be ready.”

“How?” Yaz asks her.

Jennifer glowers, her jaw grinding. “After all this, after all they’ve done. They’ve made me angry, _so_ angry. So if they try it again, I’ll be ready. Doesn’t matter how, but I will be.”

Yaz does not like the sound of that, but she does not argue. “Well, if they ever do, I’ll be there with you, alright? I’ll be by your side if they ever attack you again.”

_Or so help them._

Jennifer smiles at that, a pure, burst of sunlight smile which have been in short supply the last few days, and which it is a relief to see on ger face. It makes Yaz more at ease, too, and she keeps her eyes on Jennifer as they wander further into the park.

“The lights are so beautiful.” Jennifer comments as they stroll, looking around at the Christmas decorations hanging from buildings, lights strung between them in criss-crossing patterns. The city hall which looms over the gardens is bedecked in silver glowing lights. Yaz looks up at them, and then to Jennifer, at the way the lights reflect in her eyes, wonderous, the lines of tension around them gone for the first time in a long time and thinks that the beauty of those lights dim in the face of Jennifer. “Makes the whole city seem more alive, don’t they? Alive anew.”

Yaz smiles at that. The city is not the only one alive anew.

Something catches her attention in the corner of her eye, and Yaz jumps, pulling Jennifer closer to her. A large figure, bald head, could it be…

But the man turns, and it is not one of the men. Yaz lets out a shaky breath, annoyed at herself for being so affected.

“Yaz!” Jennifer says, taking Yaz’s hands in her own, glancing back when she sees what Yaz is looking at. She sighs, eyes soft and pearlescent as they reflect the Christmas lights. She looks so beautiful, so full of wonder as the Doctor had and Yaz cannot help but gasp lightly as her attention is brought fully to the woman in front of her. “It’s okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Yaz says, licking her bottom lip with her tongue nervously. Jennifer watches the movement, and then her gaze remains on Yaz’s lips for a moment afterwards, contemplating. Yaz’s breath hitches some more. “… I just don’t want them to hurt you again. You’ve been through enough.”

“You’re so caring for me.” Jennifer states, taking a step closer, until she is all that fills Yaz’s vision. “You’re so brave. So brilliant. Yaz.”

“Jen…” Yaz begins to say, but she is cut off by the sheer eclipse of the woman in front of her. She has eclipsed all, this woman, in so many ways. Even her own self, the shadowy moon eclipsing the blazing sun of the Doctor. But the moon is brilliant in its own way, and it reflects the sun’s light in its own way, and Jennifer is certainly beautiful in her radiance.

Bathed in her beauty, Yaz’s lips are lightly brushing against Jennifer’s.

The kiss is tentative, at first, but it soon deepens as both women find the comfortable rhythm in the action that has become so natural to all their interactions with each other. Gone is fear, gone is distrust, they now have each other.

Yaz had always wondered what it might be like to kiss the Doctor, and she can safely say that kissing Jennifer is just as wonderful as that might have felt.

The other woman suddenly pushes away, gasping for breath. Yaz finds herself stumbling, too, and without thinking it she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking to Jennifer, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it’s just….” Jennifer’s chest is heaving, her hands wildly gesticulating as she tries to explain. “You’ve been so kind to me. _Properly_ kind, not just ‘putting up with me because you feel sorry for me kind’. And you’re amazing and brave and brilliant and fantastic and I just- I really like you, Yaz!” Her hands drop to her sides, fiddling with the bottom of her coat. She looks away from Yaz, eyes trailing across the ground. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want that, I really am, but… you’re incredible and…”

She trials off, despairing, but Yaz barely hears it, does not care what she had to say, she has already said everything she needs to in order to make Yaz’s heart pound against her chest as if begging to get out, as if it cannot be contained in her chest with all the emotion that swells through her with every pump. Jennifer wants this, too, so much. Desperately.

_The Doctor wouldn’t want that for you, would she? She’d want you to be happy, and if what makes you happy, and what makes Jennifer happy too is the both of you being together, then I think you should grab onto that._

Ryan’s words ring in her ears, and Yaz nods, determined. Mind made up.

“Kiss me again.” She says, and Jennifer smiles, tentatively, and then Yaz is eclipsed with her again, beaming, and then kissing her.

“Thank you, Yaz, you really made me feel…” Jennifer pauses, searching for the right words. “I wasn’t sure of anything, when we first met. I felt like I’d just been dumped here, and I had no notion of the time of day, or even when day was and when night was, I just had that job but then you… you made me pay attention and focus on getting into a routine and just getting some semblance of a life back. And you’ve been taking care of me, you made me feel so much less alone.” She smiles softly, stepping forward and taking Yaz’s hands. “You made me feel more like…. A human being again.”

Yaz’s smile is twisted with a maelstrom of emotions that have welled inside her chest. It feels expansive, a large pool, but unlike her conflictions of the last few days, this maelstrom feels what it is… complicated. This whole situation is complicated, how they got here is complicated, and Yaz knows things might remain complicated in the future, but how she feels, right now, without thinking about it… is _not_ complicated. She can manage the maelstrom with Jennifer by her side; she is the eye of the storm and yet in the eye there is safety and love. All things considered, Yaz is happy to take shelter there.

“You don’t have to thank me.” She tells Jennifer, taking the other woman’s hands into hers and playing with her fingers. “I think we both came along for each other at the right time, didn’t we? I needed you just as much as you needed me.”

Jennifer’s head tilts to the side as she listens to Yaz, looking a little confused. Yaz wet her lips with her tongue before continuing.

“When I lost my… friend. Before.” She swallows heavily and understanding dawns across Jennifer’s face. “I was at a lose end. There _were_ so many lose ends about what happened to her, and there still are, but being with you… it’s made coming to terms with that a lot easier. You’ve made me feel calmer, grounded.”

“It’s my privilege.” Jennifer says, stepping even closer, brushing her lips against Yaz’s. There is still awkwardness with this newfound intimacy, but it also feels… _right._ As far as one can call anything ‘right’ in the situation they are in and how they had got here. But Yaz is done with the pedantics.

She presses her lips firmly to Jennifer’s, initiating and leading the kiss, deepening it, closing her eyes. The threat they might face is forgotten, all those around them are forgotten…. it is just them in that moment.

There is a sudden gurgling sound and then Yaz feels something cold hitting her head, and she and Jennifer jump back from each other in shock. They are doused in water as the fountain which is inlaid into the paving slabs in individual jets in front of the city hall comes to life, jet streams reaching for the sky and soaking them in the process. They had been stood in the middle of it without knowing it.

They both meet each other’s eyes, and then they are laughing, the unabashed joy bubbling up inside both of them like the fountain bubbles. It helps, it feels like a release, and then Jennifer is kissing Yaz and Yaz is sinking into the kiss and surrendering to it, willingly, as they both get drenched to the bone.

No more fighting it. 

* * *

Christmas carols play out dully on the radio in the background, and a fire crackles in the grate, and Yaz stands in front of the flames, watching them burn. But they burn only in themselves. She finds no place for comparison, for relatability, for inside her head is calm for the first time in _months._ She is no longer burning herself alive to understand all that has happened, and she feels peace in accepting that.

A door opens, and the smell of cooking food wafts into the living room, and Yaz turns, smiling as she sees Ryan striding in with dish filled with steaming vegetables, concentrating not to drop the hot dish which he clutches in a tea towel. He places it down on the table, laid out with cutlery and crackers, and breathes out a long breath when the dish has touched down successfully. Stars know Graham has spent so long preparing this dinner that it better not be spoilt.

Yaz does not technically celebrate Christmas, but this is not _technically_ a celebration of the holiday. Instead, it is a celebration of them, their family.

Ryan looks to her, shooting her a small, close lipped smile. When Yaz and Jennifer had returned to the house a few days ago, hands clasped together, shoulders brushing together, Ryan had taken one look at them and known. Apparently, it had taken some explanation to Graham later in the day, but both men are happy for them, and glad they can find some semblance of peace.

Maybe the threat is still out there.

Maybe the Doctor is lost forever.

Maybe Jennifer’s mind might one day reveal the truth shrouded in the fog of her past self.

Maybe the peace is temporary.

But it is still peace.

Relative peace.

“Ryan.” Yaz says, and the man looks to her expectantly with raised eyebrows. She has suddenly been overcome with the desire to ask him something, something about the whereabouts of a tattered notebook she had shoved into his chest and told him to do something with. But then… no, she decides. No, she will not ask, for what good would it do? It is all buried and hidden, now, and they have to move forwards.

“…What?” Ryan asks when Yaz does not speak further.

Yaz shakes her head, shooting him a smile. “Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Ryan shoots her a strange look but before he can ask further Jennifer comes staggering into the room clutching a warm dish of roast potatoes in her own tea towel, nearly tripping over her own feet. Yaz moves quickly to help her place the dish down on the table, and Jennifer shoots her a grateful smile. It is open, exposed gratitude. Happy, happy as can be in the circumstances. She might not have her memories, but she has a family, she has Yaz.

“Thank you.” She says, and Yaz replies by giving her a quick peck on the lips.

“Gross, I’m right here.” Ryan jokingly complains behind them, and Yaz shoots him a glare whilst Jennifer snickers.

“Didn’t Graham assign you to gravy duty?” Yaz asks him with raised eyebrows, and Ryan’s eyes widen in realisation before he swears and swiftly leaves the room. Yaz and Jennifer chuckle at his hasty departure, Yaz running her hand up and down Jennifer’s arm. The woman is dressed in a new jumper, brought by Graham, not quite a Christmas present, as technically they had not honoured that tradition, but more a gift of welcome into the home.

With Ryan gone, and just the two of them left in the front room with the fire and the Christmas music playing quietly, Yaz and Jennifer share a moment, a simple moment looking at each other, holding each other, being close to each other.

“You okay?” Jennifer asks her as she and Yaz share their moment.

Yaz looks at her, looks into her eyes, the flecks of green in hazel, a promise of the spring that will come after this winter. Perhaps Yaz could have thought she might as well have been looking at the Doctor in that moment, but Jennifer is so different now, not just in the slight changes in appearance but also simply in her very being… Being with Yaz has helped her blossom, in the light of her attack, in the light of her _being_. Yaz herself feels… perhaps ‘different’ would be too much of an exaggeration, but she at least feels contented with all she does not know, and all she thinks perhaps she may never know.

She has walked a long road, and perhaps this was not the destination she had in mind at first, but she cannot say she is unhappy with the place, and the person, she has found.

“Yeah.” She says. “I’m great.” 

* * *

In an unknown place beyond the Earth, a voice speaks.

“Report.”

Another voice speaks back, and it is as if atoms revolt at the shape of their words and nebulas twist and bend to try and accommodate the space of the words in the universe. This voice should not be speaking here, but there is much that should not have happened and yet has.

“She is buried deeper.” The second voice says. “It will only hurt the physical form to go digging. She is only human, she will not touch.”

The other voice purrs with satisfaction and stars shake. “Good. No room for escape.” There is a pause, and the voice lets out a sigh, and a solar wind blows. “We must keep a close eye, the situation is still delicate. But we are close…

Close… To domination.”

**END OF PART ONE.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and don't worry, not the end- Part Two coming soon! If you want to leave a kudos and/or comment, I would appreciate that immensely! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading- would love to hear what you thought! Hoping this will be a once a week update, will obviously depend but I'm excited about this concept :D


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